<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Home (and its connotations) by jesuisserieux</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28745514">Home (and its connotations)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisserieux/pseuds/jesuisserieux'>jesuisserieux</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Developing Friendships, E just needs to learn how to be human, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Hurt Enjolras, Hurt/Comfort, I will update tags as I go, Injury, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Reunions, Swearing, Team as Family, he's not actually marble folks, it will only get fluffier, it's about the healing power of friendship and love, its about the Found Family, this is not as dark as it looks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:09:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28745514</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisserieux/pseuds/jesuisserieux</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis haven't heard from Enjolras since the end of their Sophomore year of college, when he dropped off the face of the Earth. Now, a year and a half later, in the middle of the night, they find him again, hurt and much different than they remember. There's a lot of catching up to do for Les Amis, and a lot of healing for Enjolras. Everyone is overwhelmed. Long story short it's about found family, love, learning to be a healthy human, and how to find a home. Also it will be gay.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>116</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Emergency Contact</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi guys!<br/>This is my first ever fic and I am HELLA nervous. Please comment etc if you like this, because I am so scared about this concept. Also, if there are any grammatical mistakes, or things I should have tagged please let me know! Check the notes for specific trigger warnings for each chapter. I hope you enjoy! I'll be updating weekly on Sundays! Come say hi on tumblr @jesuisserieux lets be friends!</p><p>TW for Chapter 1: description of injuries, references to child abuse, vague violence but nothing graphic</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>R almost has a heart attack when he checks his phone. This is not an exaggeration, he literally feels his heart beat irregularly for a second there.</p><p>
  <em>Just talked to Combeferre. He says E is back. Wanna come over?</em>
</p><p>         Literally nothing is as terrifying as those words. <em>E is back</em>. Followed by such an innocuous normal message <em>wanna come over?</em> It was almost funny. But also Bossuet probably knew about the anxiety-inducing nature of those words, and he was probably offering his dorm for R to cope with his terror in good company. He dialed and immediately put things on speaker because his hands were far too shaky. Bossuet picked up after the first ring.</p><p>         “Hey. You ok?”</p><p>         “Hey, what the <em>fuck</em>?”</p><p>         “Yeah I know. I’m still sort of in shock but I wanted to let you know. Can you come over?”</p><p>         R laughed in a sort of hyperventilate-y way, “I mean, yeah sure, but what would we do?”</p><p>         “I don’t know, man, freak out together? With whiskey?”</p><p>         “You make a good point.”</p><p>         “Look, Combeferre didn’t tell me the details but apparently a lot has gone down since we last heard from him. He might call or stop by later and I figured you’d want to be here.”</p><p>         “I- yeah I… ok,” R ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth out the thoughts racing around his skull. “I’ll be over in like fifteen.”</p><p>         “Ok man. You gonna be ok getting over here?”</p><p>         “Yeah I- I’m fine I’m just sort of stunned.”</p><p>         “Yeah I get it. I think we’re gonna make stress banana bread so you have that to look forward to.”</p><p>         “Ok thanks. See you.”</p><p>         “See you soon, R.”</p><p>He hangs up the phone and tries not to scream or cry or suffocate from lack of air. Then he finger-combs his hair slightly more thoroughly, puts on deodorant and a flannel and books it.</p><p>~</p><p>         When he arrives at the JBM residence, Feuilly and Jehan are already there and the whole place smells like banana bread.</p><p>“Okay,” says Joly when he sees him standing in the doorway, “so the stress baking part is done, but the banana bread is cooling so you can be part of the stress <em>eating.</em>” R gives a watery laugh and tries not to shake him and demand answers.</p><p>“Thanks, I’ll have a slice once someone tells me what the hell is going on.” Jehan reaches out and squeezes his hand, steering them both to the sofa. R takes his hand away but he’s sure that Jehan has already felt how hard he’s shaking.</p><p>Feuilly sighs deeply, “You know how he basically disappeared after sophomore year? And after a bit we just sort of stopped hearing from him?” You <em>just stopped hearing from him,</em> R wants to say. Enjolras hadn’t texted him even when he was around. He certainly didn’t hear from him after he left. He bites his tongue to keep from screaming obscenities and nods numbly. “Well since he went MIA, we assumed he was with his dad and when we called his dad was pretty vague, but it sounded like he was at a new school. But apparently he's been missing in some capacity, because he definitely hasn’t been at another university, maybe his dad’s been keeping him home? I don’t know,” he took a shaking breath. “We only know where he is now because Combeferre and Courfeyrac are still his emergency contacts.”</p><p>No one says anything about how weird it is to have your emergency contacts be people you haven’t spoken to in almost two years.</p><p>“Who found him?” R speaks up, “Why did they need his emergency contacts?”</p><p>“He’s in the hospital right now,” says Musichetta. “They- they don't know exactly what happened, but he was beaten pretty badly according to Combeferre.” R inhales through his nose and tries to let it out slowly. Jehan squeezes his hand again. “And he just- apparently he looks bad. That’s all Combeferre knew for sure. I don't know. Anyway, some guy found him near a bus station and called an ambulance, and when they arrived, the EMTs found his emergency contacts. That's how we even know where he is. Apparently he doesn't have insurance now-”</p><p>“Why would he not have insurance,” Grantaire interrupts, “his family’s rich as hell.”</p><p>“His family’s also a bunch of <em>assholes,</em>” Feuilly gets out through gritted teeth, “Take a wild guess.”</p><p>Jehan whispers from his shoulder, “I wonder if his family isn’t the reason he disappeared in the first place.”</p><p>“No idea. They’re trying to get him out ASAP, and work something out with the hospital, since Combeferre knows a lot of the staff there,” says Musichetta, sliding two pieces of banana bread in front of R and Jehan. “It doesn't look like he would need to be there a super long time anyway, but once he wakes up they’re going to reassess. Combeferre thinks he might be back tonight or tomorrow. He's in bad shape though, we’ll probably need to give him space, and do our best to be there for him.”</p><p>“Be there for him?” scoffs R. He’s trying to sound flippant and maybe pissy, but he really just sounds hysterical. “We don't even we don't know where he's been. We don’t even know him anymore, it’s been <em>two years.</em>”</p><p>“One and a half,” Jehan corrects gently. Feuilly puts his head in his hands and makes a sniffling sound.</p><p>“After tonight I’m almost sure it wasn’t his decision to leave us,” says Bossuet. “But that just opens up more questions. I don't even know where to begin with this.”</p><p>“None of us do sweetheart,” Musichetta gives him another slice of banana bread. Grantaire think vaguely that she’s coping with this by mothering everyone else. And according to his therapist that’s just another way of being upset. He offers her a watery smile as she passes by. She quirks a smile back, but her eyes fill up and she goes to get more bread.</p><p>“I just sort of assumed he'd gone off to do better things,” Feuilly says weakly, tears rolling down his cheeks.</p><p>Joly nods, “I kind of assumed the same.”</p><p>Feuilly is fully crying now, “God I’m a terrible friend! At the beginning, I sort of thought maybe his dad had something to do with it. But- but he’s so tough you know? I figured he’d reach out somehow if something was <em>so </em>wrong. I know he never asked for help, but I figured even <em>he’d </em>let us know if something like this was going on. And we don’t even know what ‘this’ is!”</p><p>“No one knows what’s going on,” Musichetta says through a mouthful of bread. “It's no one's fault. Everyone stop feeling guilty, he’d never in a million years want that. He's here <em>now. </em>He’s back and we need to figure out what's going on so we can support him.”</p><p>Jehan nods firmly against Grantaire’s shoulder. Bossuet’s phone buzzes and he grabs it with urgency.</p><p>“Combeferre’s calling me I'll be right back.”</p><p>He leaves the room and everyone waits in tense silence, eating their banana bread and trying not to cry. At least that’s what Grantaire is doing. But everyone else looks like they’re in the same boat.</p><p>Feuilly makes a croaking sound and clears his throat, “I really should've looked for him after he disappeared. He was so confident about college and his after school plans. He would never have left. I shouldn’t have even thought that I can’t believe-“</p><p>Musichetta stops him with a hug. “There’s no reason that we should've known anything, this is an extreme situation. It’s no one’s fault that we didn’t realize.”</p><p>“Then who’s fault is it?” Feuilly borderlines shouts, “certainly not his!”</p><p>“No one is saying that,” soothes Musichetta. “I’m just saying that we have no idea what even happened, there’s no way we could have stopped it.”</p><p>“I could have called more.”</p><p>Jehan shakes his head, taking in Feuilly’s miserable face, “He stopped picking up. It was logical for all of us to stop calling.”</p><p>“Do you think this has to do with that last protest?” asks R in an embarrassingly fragile voice.</p><p>“I thought about that,” says Joly solemnly. R had almost forgotten he was there amid the hubbub. He’s sitting on the kitchen counter in total silence, but his eyes are red, and Grantaire knows he’s just as worried. “I wish I didn't, but honestly R, maybe.” R shuts his eyes but he can feel a few tears escape anyway.</p><p>Bossuet comes back in from the hall, and lets out a breath. “Ferre says he’ll be released sometime probably in the wee hours of the morning, so at least another four or five hours. He’s on an IV or something because he’s so underweight, and a lot of painkillers. By tomorrow he should be out, so we might be able to see him then.”</p><p>“Did they say what's wrong with him?” asks Feuilly.</p><p>Bossuet grimaces, “It sounds like quite a few broken or cracked ribs. He has a concussion and something is up with his right leg? Like it’s dislocated maybe? Sorry it was hard to focus. And he’s just got so many little injuries like someone beat him up, it’s really bad. Like <em>bad</em>,” his voice cracks, “ His nose is broken too, and I don’t know I can’t remember, there was like a fucking laundry-list you know?” Joly slides off the counter and hugs him tightly. Everyone in the room takes a collective breath and holds whoever is nearest. Feuilly gets up from his seat and joins Jehan and R even though the couch is way to small. Musichetta stands behind Joly and joins the hug.</p><p>“Let's settle in and watch some shitty TV,” she suggests, once she’s surreptitiously wiped her eyes, “It’s going to be the longest night ever.”</p><p>~</p><p>         Things sort of got questionable after his head hit the pavement. He wasn’t actually totally sure what had happened when, but he knew that he kept falling every time he tried to stand up. But every time he fell there was a kick in his ribs and it <em>hurt</em> and his ribs were already hurting and somewhere in his muddled brain this triggered enough adrenaline to sort of/run fall like a bear learning to walk on two legs. He didn’t know where he went after that, but he had a few memories of pavement and scraping his hands and streetlights that hurt his eyes. Mostly he remembered feeling tired. When he realized he wasn’t being chased anymore he’d gone to sleep, or maybe passed out, it was hard to remember, but when he came (relatively) to there was a man standing over him looking at something on his phone. He tried to get up but it wasn’t working, and when the man got closer he looked unfamiliar and in some part of his brain that meant <em>safe.</em></p><p>The other clear memory was being in an ambulance and telling the EMT, in voice that slurred alarmingly, “I can’t afford this,” to which she replied,</p><p>“Just focus on staying awake right now,” to which he responded by passing out apparently.</p><p>~</p><p>When Enjolras came to, he was in a very white room that smelled way too sharp. Every sense was overwhelmed and he felt vaguely like throwing up or going back to sleep. Or both. He also wanted to freak out because he didn’t remember getting there, but that urge was stopped by the heavy blanket of lint that seemed to be coating his brain. It probably had something to do with the thing in his arm or something.</p><p>He was alone which seemed wrong. This was a hospital right? People were supposed to not be left alone if they were in hospitals. He felt too tired to do much of anything so he laid there staring at nothing and going through his few memories of the night like flashcards. An indeterminate amount of time- that probably wasn’t that long- later, a man in scrubs entered carrying a clipboard and looking mildly surprised to see him awake.</p><p>“Hey!” he said, “glad to see you’re awake man. We thought you’d be out for a little longer. Hope you weren’t waiting long.”</p><p>Enjolras tried to say, “Not that long,” but only about half of the sounds came out. Hopefully the nurse guy would get it.</p><p>“How you feeling? Any pain?” He was only sort of aware of his body so he couldn’t tell for sure but he thought he might be in pain. But he wasn’t sure, so he felt like honesty was the way to go. He shrugged. The nurse chuckled.</p><p>“Ok, well we’ll see about more pain killers in a half hour maybe? Right now I have a couple guys in the waiting room who’d like to see you. Can I let them in?”</p><p>Panic shoots through Enjolras and he can feel his heart rate sky rocket, “What do they look like?” Again, maybe half the sounds come out right. He tries to sit up and almost blacks out again.</p><p>“Whoa whoa. I don’t have to let anyone in,” the nurse tries to lower him back onto the bed and pats his arm semi-reassuringly. “It’s two guys, like your age. One is tall? Black hair and glasses? The other is short and he’s got real curly hair?”</p><p>He wants to cry with relief. Not his dad. Also not people who should know where the hell he is.</p><p>“They’re really worried,” says the nurse, “but now that you’re awake I can just tell them that and keep them out.”</p><p>“No it’s ok.”</p><p>“Let them in?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>A few minutes later the nurse opens the door and Combeferre and Courfeyrac peek around like they’re scared of what they might find. The minute his eyes lock with Enjolras’s, Courferac freezes, his eyes shining. Combeferre brushes past him and approaches the bed gingerly, like Enjolras is remotely capable of running if he wants. He kind of does want.</p><p>         “E?” Combeferre’s voice is deep and soothing and just the same as it sounded two years ago and Enjolras can’t breathe. He has to say sorry obviously, but when he opens his mouth all that comes out is a horrible wail that hurts his ears and his throat and his ribs so much. He’s sobbing so hard all of the sudden, and it’s weird because he hasn’t cried in so long, but it seems like his body is making up for lost time because he can’t see or breathe or speak for tears. The next thing he becomes aware of is a hand in his hand, and then a gentle but tight hug, and Courfeyrac is there, right there, sobbing into him at an awkward angle and saying an incoherent stream of words into his temple.</p><p>         “Hey I’m gonna need you to calm your breathing for me,” comes the voice of the nurse. Enjolras forgot he was even there. “Look I know this is a lot to handle but you’ve got a lot of busted ribs and you gotta be gentle with them. Try to take regular breaths.”</p><p>         Enjolras breathes too deeply and winces at the pain. Combeferre squeezes his hand, “Breathe with me E, like square breathing. In-hold-out-hold, for four. Yeah?” Enjolras tries to nod but it’s more of a spasm.</p><p>         “We’ve got you,” says Courfeyrac, “Don’t worry we’re not going anywhere.”</p><p>         This is the opposite of the right thing to say. Enjolras can feel another wail rise in his chest and he gets out, “I’m sorry I’m so sorry I’m so-” before he’s gasping for breath again and the nurse is moving Courfeyrac away and fiddling with the IV and talking to him in the same calming voice that Combeferre has, and telling him to breath and that it’s going to be ok and other things that are absolutely not true. Whatever he did to the IV makes him even sleepier than before and he struggles to breathe and stay awake at the same time. He feels calmer, but not by choice. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he slurs to the air between the nurse and Combeferre.</p><p>         “Don’t be sorry,” says Combeferre a bit hoarsely, “we’re just glad to see you alive.”</p><p>         “I missed you so fucking much.”</p><p>         “We missed you too,” Courfeyrac says, moving back to his side. “We missed you so much E.”</p><p>         “I’m sorry-” he tries again but Courf cuts him off.</p><p>         “It’s ok. Just try and rest for now. We’ll figure it out. We love you. You’re home now.” The word home is terrifying. He grabs Courf’s hand again.</p><p>         “Don’t tell my dad I’m here.”</p><p>         “We won’t,” he replies calmly, but there’s a hint of something in his eyes as he strokes Enjolras’s hair.</p><p>         “He’ll kill me,” he tries again, “and I’m not on his insurance now. I can’t afford this.”</p><p>         “We’ll take care of it,” assures Combeferre.</p><p>         “No…”</p><p>         “<em>Yes</em> Enjolras. We’ll worry about this later, but for now it’s handled.” He’s crying again but in a lethargic way, because his body feels way too big.</p><p>         “I’m sorry…”</p><p>         “Don’t be sorry E, just work on healing up,” Courfeyrac kisses his forehead. He clumsily tries to reach a hand out, but it flops in the wrong direction and he can’t feel it anyway. He’s pretty sure that the conversation is continuing, and he’s trying to be a part of it, but everything is starting to feel less real and he gradually slips back into darkness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Spaghetti Bolognese</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! Welcome back, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Not a ton happens, but we get some character development, and I promise soon, the action will get actiony. Also, fun fact, the story about the edible is a thing that really happened to me. Do not recommend. Let me know what you think! (of the chapter, not my fun fact) As always, come say hi on tumblr @jesuisserieux</p>
<p>CW for Chapter 2: mentions of injuries, minor drug use, and non-graphic descriptions of emotional trauma responses</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>         When Enjolras wakes up again- at least fully- he’s in a room that is so much the opposite the hospital room, that he wonders for a few if it was a very intense fever dream. It’s very dark and warm in this room, which is nice for his throbbing skull. There’s a low ambient hum of a box fan, which is in itself somewhat comforting because it’s how he used to sleep when he went to college. Every part of him aches and the idea of sitting up and looking around is near impossible. It also smells better in here. Sort of like laundry, and Chinese takeout and maybe a candle of some kind? It smells like real people is the main thing, which is a relief after the sterility of the hospital room.</p>
<p>If he’d even actually been in a hospital. The likelihood of being hospitalized and seeing his best friends again feels so far fetched, but he’s pretty sure it was real. If only because he still feels kind of high, and he’s pretty sure it’s the pain killers since it’s unlikely he’d be high from anything else. Not to mention he’s pretty sure they gave him more painkillers to take with him. <em>When had that happened?</em></p>
<p>His head hurts so badly it feels like the air is humming. Vaguely though, half formed blurry memories come back: a doctor explaining his injuries to him and him not hearing a thing, slipping in and out of sleep while Combeferre talked to some guy in a nice coat, Courfeyrac sitting next to him holding his hand and saying “I can’t tell if you’re actually awake or if you’re eyes are just open,” the doctor asking him if he felt better and him nodding because Combeferre was nodding, being in a car and trying not to throw up. He pauses there, actually he <em>might </em>have thrown up which is problematic because he doesn’t remember <em>where</em>. And if it was in a car he owes someone a lifetime of apologies and also money that he doesn’t have. He also very loosely remembers and elevator, and making a conscious choice to stay asleep at some point. So that all is real, which means someone, likely Ferre and Courf had to manhandle him out of the hospital while he was completely out of it. Even now that the pain killers are fading and he can feel his body, he still feels high as hell. He hates it. Once in freshman year, he and Courf and each had half of a weed brownie and he had almost thrown up because he felt like he could feel the Earth in orbit. This kind of felt like that except not as funny and very alarming since he has no idea when it will be over.</p>
<p>He almost wants to go back to sleep but no- he owes Combeferre and Courfeyrac an explanation. Two years worth of explanations and apologies actually. And he needs to know where he is and who knows he’s here. But first he has to sit up. He turns his head and jumps just a bit when he sees he’s not alone. On the bed opposite him is a figure, also asleep he thinks. As his eyes adjust to the dim light coming through the shades, he makes out Courf’s mess of hair and relaxes fractionally. He attempts to sit up and makes a sharp whimpering noise when all of his ribs decide to momentarily become lightning.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” he breathes and tries again, this time putting most of his weight on his hands. It works, but only because he’s expecting the pain this time. His ribs still hurt so much, and so do his arms now that he’s used them. He blinks tears away and tries to steady his breathing and find a position that doesn’t hurt. There isn’t one, but if he sits and rests his torso against the wall, it’s better at least, and he can breath shallowly. He sits for a few more minutes just trying to get his shit together so that when Courf wakes up he isn’t a total mess. Once he feels like this is as good as it gets, he clears his throat. Courf doesn’t stir.</p>
<p>“Courfeyrac?” he tries in a loud whisper. Still nothing. “Courf!” he tries at regular volume, although his throat is dry and sore so it still comes out in a creepy whisper. Courf stirs a small amount and makes a complaining <em>mmm </em>sound. Enjolras feels incredibly guilty. They already had to deal with him once. But, the sooner he knows what’s going on, the sooner they <em>won’t </em>have to deal with him, so he clears his throat again and says a little louder, “Courf, wake up.” Courfeyrac inhales deeply like the universe is testing him, and then tenses like he remembers Enjolras’s presence.</p>
<p>He sits up a little fast, “Hey.”</p>
<p>“Hey,” says Enjolras. He can’t think of anything else to say, which is embarrassing, since he could definitely start with <em>thank you </em>and/or <em>I’m sorry.</em></p>
<p>“I’m glad to see you’re awake! How do you feel?” he sits more upright and leans forward, but he doesn’t approach the other bed. It’s so familiar. Courf and him sleeping in a dorm- he can tell it’s a dorm, now that his eyes have adjusted, by the shitty furniture. It’s so right and yet so so screwed up because he hasn’t spoken to him in so long and Courf isn’t even angry-sounding. Enjolras wants to answer his question but he’s certain that if he tries he’ll throw up or make another one of those horrible embarrassing wailing sounds he made in the hospital. He can feel something buoyant and painful rising up his throat and he clenches he jaw tight to keep it contained. He settles for exhaling harshly through his noses and shrugging. He makes an involuntary sound then, because shrugging <em>hurts goddamn. </em>His vision black out for a second and when he blinks the dark away, Courf is crouched in front of him.</p>
<p>“Are you in a lot of pain?” He decides not to lie, and nods, because he can’t have any sort of conversation in this state. Although those pain killers were so strong, he might not be able to have a conversation on them either.</p>
<p>“Okay,” says Courfeyrac, standing. “You need to eat something before you take the meds. I’ve got some stuff in the kitchen I can heat up. You wanna stay here and try to sleep some more?” Enjolras considers this. He could, it would be a nice reprieve from the pain and the inevitable shame and awkwardness a conversation is sure to bring. But that’s all the more reason to get it over with. They deserve an explanation. Not to mention, it’s unlikely he’d fall asleep anyway in the time it takes to heat up leftovers.</p>
<p>“Okay,” Courf nods, “you can come hang out on the couch while I cook, but you should probably lie down somewhere. Just so you know Combeferre and Marius are in the common room. I mean, you don’t need to talk to anyone, but if you want solitude you might want to stay in bed.</p>
<p>“Marius?” Enjolras says, so baffled that momentarily forgets his grief and the thing that is blocking his throat.</p>
<p>“Yeah. You know Marius, he’s been my roommate since freshman year?” Courfeyrac looks a little concerned that he really might <em>not</em> remember.</p>
<p>Enjolras nods, “ No I… why is he here?”</p>
<p>“He’s still my roommate,” says Courfeyrac, still sounding a little unsure about how lucid he is. Enjolras looks around, realizing for the first time that this is not a random dorm room they happened upon but <em>Courf’s </em>dorm room. <em>Courf’s </em>bed that he’s sleeping on, who’s food he’ll be eating. He feels immensely guilty all over again, and nods so that Courf won’t ask him any other questions. The thing in his throat is expanding, and he certainly won’t be able to answer.</p>
<p>“You still want to come out with me?” asks Courfeyrac.</p>
<p>He nods, reluctantly, because now it would just be a dick move to say no. That would seem ungrateful and shitty and at the very least he can be polite.</p>
<p>“Here,” Courf reaches under the bed, and pulls out a cheap metal cane. “The folks at the ER gave you this. Want help standing up?”</p>
<p>Enjolras shakes his head and takes the cane. He doesn’t really have experience using it, so he puts it on the floor, then his feet on the floor, and kind of tries to lever himself up. This is a mistake clearly, and all of his ribs protest with a blinding flash of pain.</p>
<p>“Whoa okay,” says Courf, holding him under his arms, which <em>also fucking hurts</em>. Together though, they manage to get Enjolras on his feet more or less. More, because he is technically standing. Less, because anytime he puts any weight on his right leg it feels like the entire limb is going to give out. Using the cane and Courfeyrac as crutches, they work out a terrible inefficient system and slowly and painfully make their way to the door.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>         “Okay,” Musichetta hangs up the phone with a long sigh. “He’s out of the hospital. He’s okay. I mean, not okay, but as okay as he’s gonna be.”</p>
<p>         “Can we see him?” asks Feuilly.</p>
<p>         “I don’t know. That was Marius on the phone and he didn’t really seem like he knew what was going on. I’m pretty sure he’s as anxious as us.”</p>
<p>         “Marius?” R asks incredulously, “Why did <em>Marius </em>call you, what the fuck does he know?”</p>
<p>         “They took him back to Courf’s dorm,” explains Musichetta. “I’m honestly theorizing they asked him to call us so the three of them could have a moment alone.” As dumb as that is, it <em>does </em>check out. Marius isn’t known for keeping a cool head in emergencies. He’s also the only other member of their friend group that Enjolras hated as much as R. He bites his lip, frowning at the word choice. Not <em>hated</em>, there are few people Enjolras actually hated. More that he just had a cool tolerance for them both, like a force field for people who weren’t up to his standards of righteousness. R is probably still being a little unfair. But he’s earned the right, this night has been hell. <em>These past </em>two years <em>have been hell</em>, he tries not to think. God this whole thing is fucked. Until tonight he’d been thinking about Enjolras in the past tense- <em>hated </em>him, <em>tolerated </em>him- and now horrifyingly, those things seemed applicable to the present again.</p>
<p>         “I’m taking a smoke break,” he says to the room at large. Before he can get to the door Bossuet interrupts.</p>
<p>         “No,” he points fiercely, “you are <em>quitting</em>. You told me to make you stick to it.”</p>
<p>         “These are very extenuating circumstances.”</p>
<p>         “Do you think lung cancer cares about extenuating circumstances?” asks Joly.</p>
<p>         “Here, just have another slice of banana bread instead.” Musichetta’s already on her feet.</p>
<p>He slumps back onto the couch with an overdramatic sigh. “<em>Fine,</em>”</p>
<p>Jehan takes his shoulder back as a pillow, “Did Marius say anything new?”</p>
<p>Musichetta reenters the room with enough banana bread for three Grantaires, and flops gracelessly onto the floor. “He just woke up so they don’t know much. He seems pretty with it? Like he knows their names so that’s something I guess?” Grantaire wants to throw up. He hadn’t even considered the <em>possibility </em>that Enjolras wouldn’t remember them. “They really just need more information, which is hard when he’s high on painkillers and concussed.”</p>
<p>“He’s concussed?” Joly hisses.</p>
<p>Bossuet nods, “Yeah, did I not mention that when Combeferre called? Anyway yeah. Like I said, a laundry list of problems.”</p>
<p>“Maybe I’ll call Marius back,” begins Musichetta, “at least ask him some of our questions so he can relay them to the others. Unless anyone else wants to take this phone call from hell?” There’s radio silence all around before Grantaire curses his sense of empathy, and makes grabby hands at her.</p>
<p>“Give me the phone. I can make the damn interrogation call.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>When Enjolras and Courf get to the door and open it a crack, he can see what looks like a dorm common room, with two figures sitting on the cheap blue couch. He opens the door wider and one turns to face him.</p>
<p>         “He’s up!”</p>
<p>         “Marius?” Enjolras asks fuzzily, because he’s pretty sure that’s Marius, but the sudden onslaught of light/people/sound is a lot all of the sudden. His headache somehow gets worse.</p>
<p>         “E.” Combeferre is the figure beside Marius, and he stands up and is instantly at Enjolras’s non-Courfeyrac side. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. You should lie down. How do you feel?”</p>
<p>         “I already asked,” says Courf, for which he is extremely grateful, “He’s in pain but I know you said he has to eat first.” Combeferre nods and together they guide him into a lying down position on the couch, which Marius jumps off of. He looks like he can’t quite figure out what to do, so he’s just smiling at Enjolras. Enjolras has absolutely no idea what to do with this, so he sort of gives him a wave before he closes his eyes again.</p>
<p>         “I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>         “What?” Courfeyrac asks, at the same time Combeferre asks “Why?”</p>
<p>“Taking over you dorm. And your weekend. Week night.”</p>
<p>“Weekend,” says Ferre.</p>
<p>Marius seems relieved that this is a conversation he can follow, “It’s really no trouble. We didn’t have plans anyway.”</p>
<p>Courf looks at Enjolras like he’s missing something, “We’ve really missed you E. I’m so glad you’re alive.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself, and his voice cracks a bit when he asks, “What happened to you? Where have you been?”</p>
<p>         Enjolras doesn’t answer. His mind has gone entirely blank, he couldn’t respond even if his voice was working properly. Courfeyrac reaches out hesitantly and offers his hand. Enjolras doesn’t take it. Doesn’t know how. Picking up his handing and putting it Courfeyrac’s palm feels impossible, like the air around him is quicksand. He has to say something. He’s acting like a dick right now. He’s acting ungrateful and he <em>isn’t </em>he’s the opposite of that but his chest feels like it’s going to explode.</p>
<p>         “Marius,” says Combeferre in a business-like tone, “Could you call Bossuet or Chetta and give them an update?” he makes fairly pointed eye contact with the hall door.</p>
<p>“Of course!” the loudness of his voice makes Enjolras wince, but then there’s the sound of the door opening and closing and it’s blessedly quiet. The tension in the air dissipates slightly but he knows the other two are still waiting for some sort of response.</p>
<p>         “Enjolras,” Combeferre tries. He doesn’t follow it up with anything</p>
<p>         Enjolras nods and tries to say literally anything. He doesn't.</p>
<p>         “I’m gonna heat up some leftovers okay?” says Courfeyrac tentatively.</p>
<p>         “Sorry,” Enjolras finally gets out. His voice is very papery and he hates how it scrapes against the thing in his throat trying to get out. “I’m really sorry.”</p>
<p>         “It’s okay,” says Combeferre, “I just want to know how you feel.”</p>
<p>         “Really, everything is ok, E,” Courf reassures as Combeferre comes closer, giving Enjolras a onceover. “Are you still vegetarian?”</p>
<p>         “No,” he says, and feels overwhelmingly ashamed for it. Combeferre puts a hand on his shoulder and he wants to throw it off. Or break it. Or hug Combeferre and cry until he’s a puddle. He just sits there.</p>
<p>         “Ok,” says Combeferre, and then after a pause, “do you remember what happened tonight?”</p>
<p>“Do you like spaghetti Bolognese?” asks Courfeyrac, from the kitchen. He nods because the thing in his chest is expanding and the world feels a little fuzzier. He has no idea what spaghetti Bolognese is and he couldn’t care less. “Great.”</p>
<p>Combeferre shoots Courf a look, “Could you get him some water too? And then I want you to rest until this is ready E.” He nods again, and accepts the glass of water Courfeyrac hands him a few seconds later. He tries to make eye contact, to say thank you, but he can’t so he settles for looking at the glass itself.</p>
<p>“I really need to know how your head is feeling E,” says Combeferre. “You have a fairly serious concussion, can you tell me where you are?”</p>
<p>“Your dorm?”</p>
<p>“That’s right. Well, Courfeyrac’s dorm, but yes. Do you know how old you are?”</p>
<p>“21.” Probably. He honestly doesn’t know the date.</p>
<p>“Ok, can you tell me our names? Who are we to you?”</p>
<p>“Marius, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, you’re…” this feels like a trick question. Can he say <em>friends</em>? Is that too presumptuous? It would be rude to not say friends though. Les Amis? That also feels outdated.</p>
<p>“We’re your friends E. Did you not remember that?” asks a very concerned Courfeyrac trying to hand him a bowl of some sort of pasta. The idea of eating makes him feel nauseous and guilty.</p>
<p>“No just-“ he gives up and takes the bowl, just to look at it. “I’m sorry.” Why is that the only thing he can say? What the hell? What happened to giving an explanation? He tries again, “I know I just showed up out of nowhere and barged into your dorm.”</p>
<p>“No you didn't,” says Courfeyrac in a voice attempting to be calm. “You’re not barging into anything, we’re so glad to see you.” He squeezes Enjolras’s shoulder, and he can’t hold back a flinch when he feels his hand. “Sorry,” says Courf, “I’ll ask next time.”</p>
<p>“It’s fine.” He thinks he might cry again so he takes a bite of the spaghetti Bolognese.</p>
<p>“Look we can talk more later once you’ve had some more pain meds,” says Combeferre. “For now eat what you can, and don’t worry. You don’t have to be sorry.” He kind of does though. They all know it. Courfeyrac goes to the hall door and ushers Marius- who’s been sitting absently on the floor outside apparently- back in.</p>
<p>“The others really want to see you,” says Marius. Enjolras wants to be swallowed by the shitty couch cushions.</p>
<p>“Let’s give it a sec,” says Combeferre diplomatically, as he watches Enjolras try not to react. He really does try to say something again, maybe explain why that would be horrible, and why they should just let him eat his leftovers and get out, but no sound comes out of his mouth. It’s so infuriating and he wants to scream but he <em>can’t because his voice isn’t working</em>, and he can feel his eyes welling up, so he scrunches them closed and tries to keep eating.</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” says Courf, far too kind, “there’s no pressure, they’re just worried. For now, just eat, like Ferre said, and then maybe we can try to chat after you’re in less pain?”</p>
<p>That doesn’t seem like it’ll be in the near future. He tries to make his mind go blank again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Last Protest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi All! Thanks for reading, next chapter they will all meet face to face! Things are heating up! Please comment/kudos, I crave validation and also reach out on tumblr @jesuisserieux to just chat! Let's be friends!</p><p>CW for chapter 3: passing mentions of panic attacks, homophobic slurs, homophobia in general, mentions of police, and description of injury</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>R hangs up the phone feeling numb from the shoulders down. <em>It’s an anxiety response,</em> his therapist told him, <em>sometimes anxiety isn’t a panic attack. </em>He tries to breathe deeply or whatever shit you’re supposed to do for anxiety, he can’t really focus right now.</p><p><em>He looks really bad,</em> <em>R, </em>Marius had said, pausing to try and find the words, <em>like </em>really <em>bad. He- I mean I almost didn’t recognize him. I mean I did, and I know it could have been a lot worse but he looks like a skeleton. And his eyes-</em></p><p><em>Did you feed him? </em>Grantaire had interrupted, like an idiot. Of course they fucking fed him. Combeferre is a nursing major. The others have common fucking sense.</p><p><em>Of course</em>, Marius needlessly reassured him, <em>Courf is heating up some leftovers I think. I’m just sort of staying in the hallway until someone comes to get me. Courf said to be like… quiet and not weird and I figured I can’t be weird if I’m not in the room. </em>Grantaire had laughed nervously along with him, and ended the call soon afterwards because he felt like his head might float away from his body. One sentence is playing over and over in his mind. <em>They think his dad did it. </em></p><p>He wants a cigarette so <em>fucking </em>bad, but he’s not about to stress the others out more, and Bossuet had mentioned he had whiskey. He opens the door to the JBM Den again (haha interior rhyming, he’s delirious right now).</p><p>“Boss can I have whiskey now?”</p><p>“That bad?” asks Bossuet with concern, but he doesn’t wait to get up and grab some glasses, which R appreciates.</p><p>“They think his dad did it,” says R, and finally something in him snaps. “I think it’s my fault.” He starts sobbing in the gross inelegant way that’s usually reserved for being drunk or alone, and immediately everyone is on top of him- minus Boss, who’s still getting whisky because he is a <em>good </em>friend.</p><p>“No,” says Musichetta, pulling him into a hug. Jehan attaches himself to Grantaire’s back.</p><p>“Why do you think that, love?”</p><p>“Because,” Grantaire starts, trying to form coherent sentences, “the protest. That was where it all went to shit. And you- you guys said you called his dad. I just- I know it’s-” he’s fully not making sense now, so he breaks off in favor of sobbing into Chetta’s hair. Jehan squeezes them both.</p><p>“That’s not your fault R.”</p><p>But it kind of is?</p><p>~</p><p>The protest on June 21<sup>st</sup> was the last time any of them had seen Enjolras in person. It was <em>of course</em> supposed to be a peaceful protest which is true of <em>literally every protest Enjolras, no one goes out with the hopes of getting beat up</em>. Technically it was a counter-protest- well, a <em>counter </em>counter-protest to be very technical- in response to some local jackasses. The downtown area outside of campus was pretty liberal, as are most college towns in the northern US, even the small ones, but as always there are some jackasses (racists, homophobes, etc). The town had it’s own little Pride Parade a week back, and sure enough, some of the jackasses had shown up with signs and slurs, at the corner of the 7/11. They didn’t really accomplish a lot, but they made people uncomfortable, and they were a reminder of all the prejudice still out there.</p><p>Enjolras, along with a couple other student organizations, and one from in town, had set up the counter counter-protest in a week. It was supposed to just be a peaceful demonstration, holding signs, chanting, the usual. <em>It doesn’t need to be a big thing,</em> Enjolras had said, <em>I just want them to know that we see them and we aren’t cowed. </em>R had been kind of mad because 1. sometimes ignoring people is the best way to get them to shut up, and 2. who uses <em>cowed </em>in a sentence outside of bad poetry?</p><p>Internally though, he’d also been a little glad they were having the protest. People like the counter-protestors <em>did </em>scare him. They were the reason he got a lot of shit in high school, and every single time he went home. The solidarity of a group of queer people fighting back was sort of empowering. This was the main reason he attended, followed closely by the fact that 1. he had maybe wanted to make sure Enjolras knew he liked men, and 2. maybe just a little to impress him also. The main reason really was that the cause was important to him though.</p><p>He had gotten there <em>on time</em>, with a passable sign, and the bi flag on one cheek and the rainbow on the other. It was an adrenaline rush to be a part of a protest and not think it was a horrible idea. This one had an achievable goal- just show the homophobes that they were here to stay. Unfortunately, at this particular protest, so were the homophobes. There was a group of them, still not as many as their group, but more than before, across the street from them. Gradually, across the street became more like face to face, with police “keeping the peace” and forming a useless wall between them. Useless, because it didn’t stop them from yelling at each other. Somehow, R was still at the front, and he was angry and really riding the high of activism for once. So when one guy started yelling about the Bible, Grantaire yelled right back. He doesn’t even remember what he’d said anymore. What he does remember is the guy’s spit hitting his chin and neck, and the man yelling <em>fucking faggot!</em></p><p>Before R could come up with something witty to say, a wooden protest sign hit the man squarely in the face, knocking him down.</p><p><em>I’d rather be a faggot then a fucking piece of shit</em>, Enjolras snarled. To be totally honest, it was an objectively dumb move, but it was also <em>hot </em>and very pleasant to be stood up for.</p><p>Of course after that was when things went to hell. A protestor had used violence, so now it was no holds barred for the counter-protestors. The police weren’t so much violent as actively negligent, and a lot of people got the shit beat out of them. This was including Enjolras, who despite being completely made of fury, was shoved from behind and pushed to the ground. The last R had seen him, he’d been taken into the ER, for a concussion and maybe other stuff. His brain probably looks like scrambled eggs if he was concussed again.</p><p>They all expected Enjolras to be out of the hospital after a day or so. What they didn’t expect, was a picture in three of the county papers, of Enjolras, mid sign-swinging, his eyes ablaze, very obviously wearing the rainbow flag. He had always made sure to stay out of pictures. Enjolras never told them why, but the only things they knew about his family were that they were distant and that his dad was somehow involved in politics, so they all assumed that he had kind of shitty parents like a lot of queer people. It was the one thing Enjolras wouldn’t go into detail about. If there was ever an article about Les Amis or anything to do with publicity, he <em>always </em>made sure not to be in it, citing “personal preference.” No one ever pushed it. This was also why, Enjolras organized protests, but never gave his own speeches, and very rarely was he at the front of the crowd.</p><p>He facetimed Combeferre and Courfeyrac from the hospital after they all left to lick their wounds. He said not to worry, and that his dad was going to pick him up. According to Combeferre, he hadn’t sounded thrilled, but he hadn’t sounded like it was a huge deal either. Of course, at that point no one knew about the picture yet. He’d called a few others a few more times, before communication dwindled to texts, and then after a month, nothing. All this is to say, if Grantaire had just kept his fucking mouth shut, and not provoked the counter-protestor, none of this might have happened. All this is to say, it’s his fault.</p><p>~</p><p>“It’s literally not your fault,” said Joly from his seat in the armchair. “Like, yeah you might be right about his dad and the protest, but you didn’t <em>ask </em>Enjolras to deck that guy.”</p><p>“Even if you had,” murmurs Jehan into his hair, “you didn’t make his dad a homophobe. Or that guy at the protest a homophobe.”</p><p>“You know E would be <em>pissed </em>if he knew you blamed yourself for being politically active,” says Bossuet, pressing a glass of whiskey into his hand.</p><p>Chetta and Jehan both pull away to give him room, and he and Boss cheers and then each take a shot.</p><p>“Don’t get super drunk though ok?” asks Musichetta. “There might be more phone calls to make.”</p><p>“I won’t,” he promises.</p><p>“I will,” says Feuilly, “pour me a shot, Boss.”</p><p>The tension is somewhat defused and they all settle back into various places on the couch or the floor.</p><p>“Marius says we can come by tomorrow,” says R, from the couch. “I forgot to say that. He said to stop by in the afternoon.”</p><p>“Technically it is tomorrow,” says Joly. “Do y’all wanna spend the night?”</p><p>“Yeah,” says Feuilly, “but I won’t be sleeping.”</p><p>“You’ll be drinking!” says R, and is rewarded with a small smile.</p><p>“We should text the others too,” whispers Jehan.</p><p>“Marius already called Cosette, he told me,” confirms R, “but I can text Ep and Bahorel.”</p><p>“Tell them to come over too,” says Musichetta, “safety in numbers or whatever.”</p><p>R really doesn’t want to be the bearer of this particular news, so he tries to break it to the others casually. He gets a W<em>HAT???? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS???? </em>from Bahorel and a <em>For real? What the fuck? What the fuck are you ok? Is HE ok?? </em>from Eponine so safe to say he failed. Either way they’ll be here soon, and that’s something of a comfort. All of them together. Or at least, for the first time in a year and a half, all of them accounted for.</p><p>~</p><p>The pain killers make him feel sleepy and dumb, but he already sort of felt that way because of the concussion, so at least he’s in less pain. He knows that now is the time to have that talk he promised, but he just wants to sleep. At some point he must drift off, because he’s woken up by Courfeyrac, tugging the half finished bowl out of his hands.</p><p>“You feel a little better?” he asks gently, and Enjolras nods, even though he feels vaguely nauseous. Courfeyrac smiles, and goes to put the dishes away presumably. Marius gets up and follows him to the kitchen, while Combeferre stays close by.</p><p>Distantly he can hear Marius say, “I told them they could come by in the afternoon, was that a mistake?”</p><p>“I’m… not sure,” Courf says quietly.</p><p>“I can call them back and say I fucked up, I just wasn’t sure-“</p><p>“No it’s fine Marius, for now lets leave it.”</p><p>Enjolras tries to turn his head to see them, but it hurts a lot. He looks at Combeferre for help, and Ferre raises his eyebrows like this isn’t a total disaster of an idea.</p><p>“Why don’t you want to see them?” he asks gently. <em>I don’t want to see </em>anyone, thinks Enjolras frantically. He fumbles for an answer that makes sense.</p><p>“I’m high right now.”</p><p>“Yeah, I don’t think they’ll be offended that you’re on pain killers after being in a <em>hospital.</em>”</p><p>“But I-” he stutters, “I- I want to be… normal. I- when I see them.”</p><p>“Ok,” says Ferre nodding, like this is coherent, “we’ll see what you feel like then. The afternoon is a long way off, by then we can see if you want to hold off on more pills or not.”</p><p>“I…” he tries to think of a better excuse.</p><p>“E,” Ferre moves to sit next to him on the couch. Having a person so close is thrilling and terrifying, “they’re not going to interrogate you. Everyone is just worried about you. They want to see that you’re alive in person.”</p><p>Damn if that doesn’t make him feel like the worst person on Earth. He tries to breathe normally and not explode. He can’t speak he can’t speak he can’t speak.</p><p>“I know this is all a lot,” says Combeferre, “I really know that, E. But we need to know a little bit. And it’s ok if you can’t answer questions, but could I try a few yes or nos?”</p><p>Enjolras nods automatically, even though he’s not sure that’s manageable, because Combeferre is being so much more understanding than he deserves right now.</p><p>“Ok great,” Combeferre sounds relieved, “you don’t have to keep your eyes open if you don’t want. And when you’re too tired let me know.” He nods. “Ok, great. Ok, let me know if this is too much. Is there anyone following you, that you know of?”</p><p>This actually makes him pause because it’s possible, but the question was “that he knows of,” and he doesn’t. He shakes his head. It fucking hurts.</p><p>“Gentle! Ok, do you know who hurt you like this?”</p><p>He’s glad his eyes are closed, he can feel more tears try to happen. He nods, a bit softer this time.</p><p>“Ok. Do <em>I </em>know this person? Or know of them?” He nods. “Is it your dad?” Enjolras wants to run. He nods again.</p><p>“Ok, thank you for telling me. I think that’s enough questions. I know that was hard. I just want you to know that we’re here for you and we’re not going anywhere.”</p><p>Courfeyrac crouches on his other side, “No one here is mad at you, E, we love you.” This is all too much. He covers his face for a little respite, but his nose is still aching and the rest of his face is too, so it’s the opposite of comforting.</p><p>“Thanks,” he gets out, and it takes everything in him to not completely fall apart.</p><p>“Always,” says Courf. Then he stands, and adds in a stronger voice, “I’m glad you ate something. Let’s get you back to bed for a bit.”</p><p>Enjolras wants to protest, but he’s so useless this way, and sleep sounds amazing and conversation-free. Courfeyrac reaches down a hand and raises his eyebrows for silent permission. Enjolras starts to stand, and Courf meets him halfway, handing him the cane again.</p><p>“I’ve got him,” Courf says, as they make their ungainly way back into the bedroom. After a long painful walk, he lays Enjolras back on the bed, and tucks him in. The fan is still going, and he could almost imagine the past hour has been a dream. Which reminds him-</p><p>“Courf,” he says as Courf turns to leave.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“I- I don’t remember but I think I threw up? Did I throw up in your car?”</p><p>“You threw up in a Lyft, but don’t worry, we tipped <em>a lot.</em>”</p><p>The bed is making him sleepy so this doesn’t send him spiraling, just makes him inexplicably sad.</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Stop saying that,” says Courfeyrac, “You keep saying that, but you have nothing to apologize for. I’m going to remind you every time.” He reaches out hesitantly, and ever so gently rubs Enjolras’s arm. He lets out a long breath and heads towards the door again.</p><p>“Try and sleep for a little bit more.”</p><p>“Ok,” Enjolras says, letting his eyes close. There is some part of him yelling, trying to keep him awake, telling him its dangerous to close his eyes. The sleepy, drugged part of him is a lot bigger though, and it slowly but surely drowns out any other voice, until his mind is blissful darkness again.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Best of Luck</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi y'all!!! I hope you enjoy. More notes at the end, because I just figured out that's a thing I can do.</p><p>CW for Chapter 4: vomiting, description of non-lethal injuries, non graphic description of panic attack, mentioned child abuse, the mention of the military</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            Enjolras wakes up feeling like shit. This isn’t really special anymore, but specifically, he feels like his head is going to explode, and that’s still a novelty experience. He sits up, and immediately has to use every bit of will power not to vomit over the side of the bed. The knowledge of where he is hits him all at once. His ribs are screaming and his head is spinning and he knows that in the next few hours he’s going to have to meet and greet the rest of the Amis. He sits in Courfeyrac’s bed, jaw clenched, trying to stop both the panic and bile rising in his throat. He knows a losing battle when he sees one. He throws off the covers and hobbles to the door, quick as he can, hoping that if he moves fast enough, he won’t feel any pain. This strategy doesn’t work, but at least his leg is supporting his weight, even if it’s <em>very </em>unhappy about it.</p><p>            He makes it through the door and out into the living room, where Combeferre and Courfeyrac are drinking coffee and having a hushed discussion that cuts off when they see him. If he moves fast enough maybe they’ll ignore him. They don’t, but he gets to the bathroom first and slams the door so at least no one else has to watch him retch, kneeling on the gross tile floor. Evidently Marius and Courf haven’t gotten better at sticking to a cleaning schedule.</p><p>            “E!” comes Courf’s voice from the other side of the door, “Are you okay?”</p><p>He can’t respond, he’s too busy throwing up again. God throwing up is horrible. Everything feels like it’s pulsing, and he rests his head on the toilet seat for a second, before returning to vomiting. He hears a knock from the other side of the door, and then Combeferre, in a less frantic voice,</p><p>            “Enjolras? I have water. Can I come in?”</p><p>            He wants to say <em>give me a minute, </em>or <em>hang on while I throw up my stomach lining, </em>or <em>no, </em>but he can’t because he’s trying to breath like a normal person who isn’t doing those things. The door tentatively creaks open, and he can hear someone, presumably Combeferre, enter the little room. A hand sets a glass of water down on the tile next to him.</p><p>            “Do you think you’re going to throw up again?” asks Combeferre from behind him.</p><p>He shrugs, and lets the toilet support his full body weight.</p><p>            “Okay,” says Combeferre, “let’s relocate to the couch then. Come on.”</p><p>He puts a gentle hand on Enjolras’s elbow, and it’s a testament to how exhausted he feels, that he doesn’t try to shake it off. He holds onto the sink, and levers himself up. All of his ribs shout in unison, and he has to take another second leaning over the sink, fighting back tears of pain. Combeferre flushes the toilet, and puts his other hand on Enjolras’s shoulder, steering him out into the living room again.</p><p>            “Lie down,” he says, and Courf sets a bowl down next to the couch, looking very concerned.</p><p>            “Sorry. Thanks.”</p><p>            “What did I say about apologizing, E?”</p><p>Combeferre kneels down next to him, “Do you want another pain killer?” Enjolras does, <em>so </em>badly, but he also knows that people will be arriving soon.</p><p>            “When are the others coming?”</p><p>            “We can text them,” says Courf, flinging a blanket over him, “We were waiting until you woke up.” His head hurts so badly that he can’t even fathom not taking a pain killer.</p><p>“Okay then.” Courf scurries to grab the water from the bathroom, and then the meds. “I could leave? They don’t need to come here.”</p><p>            “Hell will freeze over,” says Combeferre calmly, “before I let you leave like this.”</p><p>            “Fuck off,” says Enjolras, out of instinct. He then immediately flinches in horror. “Sorry, I- that-”</p><p>            “It’s okay” Combeferre sighs, “ you have a headwound, you’re allowed to be cranky.”</p><p>            “No but-”</p><p>            “E, he said it’s fine,” says Courfeyrac, handing him a pill and a glass of water, “just take your drugs.”</p><p>Enjolras takes them, his throat still burning. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay,” says Combeferre gently.</p><p>The gentleness is hard to bear, Enjolras can feel his breath picking up again, the spinning in his head is back.</p><p>            “I can’t see the others.”</p><p>            Courf frowns, “Why not?”</p><p>            “I just- I can’t. I can’t. I need to go.” He’s trying to sit up more, trying to set the water down and get up, but he only succeeds in dropping it and spilling water everywhere. “Fuck.”</p><p>He can’t breath. He can’t breath, but he also knows he’s breathing <em>too </em>much, and his ribs literally feel like they’re on fire. He needs to be alone. He needs to not be here. He needs to not be here surrounded by these kind people who are being so gentle and who think they still know him, and who will expect things from him. He needs to be safe, he needs to ride out this panic attack alone, not vulnerable in the middle of a living room. He becomes aware that he’s choking on dry sobs, crying without actual tears, into Courfeyrac’s shoulder. He’s not sure how he got there. The world is still spinning, and he keeps babbling incoherently about how he needs to leave. The world keeps coming in and out of focus.</p><p>The next time that he’s aware of his surroundings, everything is still blurry, but he can feel Combeferre rubbing his back and Courfeyrac murmuring into his ear</p><p>            “We don’t expect anything of you, E, just let us take care of you. We love you, we missed you so much,” and on and on in that vein, which makes him cry more because he really doesn’t deserve that kind of care. Not from these people. These people who are all beautiful and wonderful and whom he left.</p><p>            He’s pretty sure he’s only calming down because of the pain killer he took, but gradually his breathing evens out a little, though the ache in his ribs stays.</p><p>            “They literally just want to see you,” says Combeferre. “Whatever happened, we all still love you. They just wanna see that you’re really here.”</p><p>            “I’m not,” he says nonsensically.</p><p>            “It’s enough,” says Courfeyrac to the top of his head, “whatever you are, it’s enough. No one is angry E, no one expects anything, just let us be there for you, please.”</p><p>~</p><p>            R doesn’t mean to be the last one through the door, he really doesn’t. It’s just that he’s a fucking coward and everyone else isn’t. Marius, who’s already seen Enjolras, opens the door and ushers them all in, and R feels like he’s going to pass out. Everything goes distant and strange, and he keeps moving forward, through the doorway purely out of instinct. He steps into Courf and Marius’s living room, which is cleaner than the last time he’d been over. His eyes fall on Combeferre on the floor, Courf at one end of the sofa, and propped up at the other end- is Enjolras.</p><p>            <em>He looks just like him</em>. Is his first thought, which is dumb because he <em>is </em>him, and honestly, he doesn’t look much like himself. Or he does, but he looks like a facsimile of himself. Marius wasn’t kidding when he said he looks like a skeleton. Enjolras is frighteningly thin, with dark dark circles under his eyes. He’d always looked thin and a little tired, but now he doesn’t look like he’s slept or eaten in days. He’s dirty, his hair is much shorter than the last time they’d seen him, and it looks like it might have dried blood in it. His clothes are cleaner than him- clearly borrowed from Courfeyrac- and he has a huge bruise stretching across his face, from the bridge of the nose and over the right eye. In fact, every body part that Grantaire can see is bruised in some way. He looks up when they all come in and meets R’s eyes. His eyes have a hollow, wary quality, that R is surprised to find isn’t actually new. He’s always looked that way, but it’s more pronounced now, there isn’t the same fierce warmth to balance it out. He looks tiny and smudgy and human, and R can’t bear it. Enjolras doesn’t look small. Enjolras doesn’t look <em>human.</em> He turns and walks right back out of the room.</p><p>            He can hear low voices behind him, and he assumes that people are talking about him, but he can’t go back. He can’t spend one more second in that room with that Enjolras, who doesn’t speak and whose hands shake. That’s not Enjolras, that’s nothing like Enjolras, and now that he’s seen it R is shocked how much he preferred the untouchable avenging angel Enjolras who didn’t give him the time of day.</p><p>            He dimly realizes he’s passed the elevators, so he keeps walking until he hits the end of the hall and sits down. He’s crying, which he didn’t notice before. Huge silent sobs and <em>jesus hasn’t he done enough crying today?</em> It’s not like he’s the one who got beat up. It’s not even like his friend got beat up. He and Enjolras weren’t exactly close before this, he is the <em>last </em>person who should be getting this upset.</p><p>            “R!” he hears, and Courfeyrac comes around the corner of the hallway, “Hey, hey, what’s going on?”</p><p>            “I-” R tries, “I can’t see him.”</p><p>Courfeyrac sits down next to him, and gives him a hug of only Courfeyrac proportions.</p><p>            “I know. I know I know I’m sorry. I know,” Grantaire can feel him crying too. He reaches back and hugs Courf too, because that’s something he can do. At the very least he can let someone else cry with him.</p><p>~</p><p>            Every new face through the door is like a punch in the gut. Every single person he let down, walking through the door one at a time. Enjolras can see in everyone’s eyes how worried they are about him, how they care, and it makes him want to dive out a window. Before this though, Combeferre had talked him through the interaction, explaining that he didn’t even have to talk. People really just wanted to see he was alive. <em>Just make an appearance, </em>he said, <em>and then you can go back to bed. Courf and I can answer some of their questions. </em>So he sits, breathing as deeply as he can without wincing, and trying not to look like he’s sort of high on pain killers. Jehan comes through the door and gives him a tearful smile, which he tries to return. If the look on their face is anything to go by, he fails massively. He can’t quite keep track of all the faces surrounding him and giving him worried, teary looks.</p><p>He looks back to the door. The last one to enter is Grantaire. He looks, Enjolras thinks very distantly, less tired than he used to, though not by much. He locks eyes with Grantaire. He’s not sure if he’s been staring too long- it’s hard to focus on anything with the pain killers- but the look on his face can only be described as horrified. Enjolras stares back, not quite knowing what to do with that, and then Grantaire is turning around abruptly and headed back out the door.</p><p>            Courfeyrac bolts to his feet, “I’ll get him,” he mutters under his breath, and steps out after him. Enjolras feels very naked without Courf obscuring some of him, and very thrown by the whole interaction with Grantaire. Combeferre, absolutely brilliant human that he is, gets up and takes Courfeyrac’s spot.</p><p>            “Hi,” he says to all the other Amis, in his calm bedside-manner voice. Enjolras fully doesn’t trust himself to speak so he just waves at no one in particular. A huge and terrible silence fills the room.</p><p>            “Hey,” comes a voice somewhere to the left side of the group, “nice to see you’re alive.”</p><p>It’s Eponine, who has had a one-on-one conversation with him maybe four times. Maybe it’s because of that, but her gaze is easier to meet than some of the others. She’s looking at him with almost nothing in her expression, which is both a relief, and very disconcerting.</p><p>            “Thanks,” he says, his voice coming out a creaky half-whisper.</p><p>It’s like the sound of him speaking lets a little bit of the tension in the room ease, and everyone seems to take a deep breath.</p><p>            “Can we hug you?” asks Jehan, who’s clinging fiercely to Bossuet’s hand. Enjolras feels like someone has pulled a rug out from under him. They didn’t discuss this. He can’t answer this question with a nod or a wave. Combeferre opens his mouth, but Cosette gets there first,</p><p>            “Maybe we should just stick to waves for the time being. I think hugs aren’t comfortable on bruises.” She gives him a smile and a very friendly wave. He can’t meet her gaze for too long. <em>Thank you, </em>he wants to say,<em> it’s good to see you</em>, but her gaze is too kind, and her voice carries so much concern and <em>love, </em>it hurts to be the recipient.</p><p>            “Can we sit?” asks Musichetta. They can sit. They <em>should </em>sit, they all came here to see him, but the idea makes his breath shorten again. Sitting implies a long stay. He feels irrationally cornered, trapped into a circle of polite caring people, who will no doubt all have questions for him.</p><p>            “Sure,” says Combeferre easily, “make yourselves comfortable.” He looks to Enjolras, “You want to rest for a while? I know the pain killers make you woozy.”</p><p>            That is an out if Enjolras has ever heard one, and the wave of relief and gratefulness that washes over him almost compels him to squeeze Ferre’s hand. He settles for a small smile and a nod. As Ferre is helping him to Courfeyrac’s bed, he whispers to Enjolras,</p><p>            “I’ll leave the door cracked, if you need anything just shout. Or- maybe don’t shout. If you need anything just throw one of Courf’s slippers at the door.” Enjolras nods, exhausted. “Also,” he says, as they begin the process of the-least-painful-way-of-lying-down, “don’t mind R. He’s stressed, and everyone deals with stress in different ways, some are better than others. Don’t take it personally.” Enjolras swallow, nods again. Everyone out there is so overwhelming, that really R’s reaction doesn’t stand out much. He feels a bit guilty though, at the look of horror on his face. R is the only one who reacted how he <em>should </em>have. R alone, looked at Enjolras like he’d abandoned them.</p><p>~</p><p>            “I’m so mad at him,” R gasps into Courfeyrac’s hair. “I’m so fucking mad at him and I know that’s wrong, that’s so fucked up, I just-”</p><p>            “Shhh,” says Courfeyrac, “I know, it’s okay. You don’t need to be rational right now.” R cries harder.</p><p>            When it’s been a few minutes, and both of them are cried out, and starting to feel mildly embarrassed about hugging for so long, R speaks up.</p><p>            “I’m sorry. That was really stupid.”</p><p>            “Hey, I’m crying too.”</p><p>            “Yeah I know, sorry man. I just- I thought I was prepared but…”</p><p>            “Yeah,” Courf nods, “it’s fucking brutal.”</p><p>            “Yeah.”</p><p>            “I’m not gonna make you come back and have like, a normal conversation, but you want me to call Bahorel or something? I don’t think you should be alone, and I feel bad leaving Ferre to answer everyone by himself.”</p><p>            R thinks for a long moment. He shakes his head, “Nah, I’ll come with.”</p><p>            “You sure?”</p><p>            “Yeah,” he says, getting to his feet. “It’s not like it’s gonna be easier the next time I see him.” Courf gets to his feet as they make their way back together.</p><p>            “You know he didn’t actually want anyone to come?” R looks at him. “He kept saying he could just leave, without seeing you guys. I think the only reason he came willingly with us is that he was high out of his mind.” R gives a watery scoff to let him know he’s listening. “I know you said you’re mad, and that’s fine, I’m sort of mad too, but every other word out of his mouth is sorry.” His voice catches for a minute. “I don’t think this was his choice, but I know however angry any of us are, he’s much angrier at himself. Just, I don’t know. Yeah.”</p><p>            R nods, trying to contain the million thoughts and feelings rolling around in his brain. He pushes open the door to their suite again, before he can change his mind. Everyone looks up. Enjolras is conspicuously absent. For a second, Grantaire is seized by the irrational fear that he left again, or that somehow his reaction drove Enjolras away.</p><p>            “He’s resting,” says Ferre, like he can read R’s mind, “This many people is overwhelming I think. Plus, his pain meds make him pretty out of it.” R nods and goes to sit by Bossuet and Chetta on the floor. Chetta puts her head on his shoulder and he squeezes her hand gratefully.</p><p>            “What did I miss?”</p><p>            “Nothing much,” says Eponine, “we said hi, he said hi, it was awkward as hell.” He almost laughs at that.</p><p>            “I bet.”</p><p>            “So,” says Combeferre, his business like tone making R tense up,“ we don’t actually know much more than you guys. I know this is hard for everyone, but he’s really traumatized. I don’t know everything, he’ll barely talk to us, but I got a little out of him earlier this morning. His dad did this.” Everyone in the room has a reaction to that. R’s is to tear up again, like a total idiot. Chetta squeezes his hand back. “That’s about all he’s told me. I’m not sure if he’s been living with him this whole time, but I would guess not. He’s way underweight, and it doesn’t seem like he’s showered in days. If anything it looks like he’s been on the street. He had a bag when they checked him in to the hospital, and in that we found an ID. It looks like, at least as of last year, he was a registered Marine.</p><p>            “He’s a <em>what?” </em>says Jehan.</p><p>            “Like a Marine-Marine?” asks R.</p><p>            “Like the army,” says Bahorel.</p><p>            “Like the army,” confirms Combeferre. “I looked up where the locations where Marines train, and they said they can’t give out student information. So I don’t know anything about how that happened. I have no idea what it means.” He looks like he’s trying very hard not to cry.</p><p>            Courfeyrac drapes himself over his back and presses a kiss to his temple, “I know Enjolras would <em>never </em>willingly join the military. There’s a reason for all this and it’s his bastard dad. You all know that none of this is his fault right?” Courf looks around the room like he’s daring anyone to disagree. Everyone nods, some out of more shock than agreement.</p><p>            “So you think what?” asks Eponine, “that his dad forced him into the Marines?”</p><p>            “Maybe?” Combeferre sighs. “I don’t know how any of this stuff works. All I know is that it’s his dad’s fault, and Enjolras would never have left, or become a Marine on purpose.”</p><p>            R clears his throat, “As opposed to becoming a Marine on accident.”</p><p>            “Shut up, R,” says Eponine, not unkindly. Then, to the surprise of the room at large, “Can I go talk to him?”</p><p>            Ferre blinks in silence for a second. “I guess? Let me ask him.” He gets up and goes to the cracked bedroom door, sticks his head in.</p><p>            “What?” says R, “Why?” Eponine looks at him like he’s an idiot.</p><p>            “I don’t know R, what insight could I possibly have into shitty fathers?”</p><p>            “Okay fair, my bad.”</p><p>            “Just, I know a little bit of what it’s like,” she says to everyone. She looks fearless, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in her voice.</p><p>            “Same,” says Cosette quietly.</p><p>            “Sure,” says Ep, “we both do. But, no offense Cosette, we deal with things in really different ways. You deal with things in healthier ways if I’m honest. I know what it’s like to not be able to talk. I get how much it sucks to have everyone so concerned about you when you feel like you deserve it. I wanna talk to him.”</p><p>            Combeferre sits back down, nodding. “He’s okay with it, as long as you leave the door open.”</p><p>            “Of course,” Eponine stands and strides to the door.</p><p>            “Ep?” says Courfeyrac, “please just, be gentle. He’s so out of it. I know you will be, just- I mean he’s barely said <em>anything</em>.”</p><p>            “I will be,” Ep promises, “I can be gentle. I promise I just want to talk to him. I think I could help.”</p><p>            “Best of luck,” R mutters, as she steps into the darkened room.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The suspense!!!! It's killing me! This chapter was getting hella long, so I hope you don't mind the mini cliff hanger. Also, I hope the new developments aren't too out of left field! Let me know what you think! Please like/comment, I crave validation, and come say hi @jesuisserieux on tumblr! (also I don't ship E and Ep at all but I'm a huge fan of their friendship, I think those two have so much good friendship potential)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Deal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi y'all! Sorry I've been MIA. I am currently the only one in a household of four who doesn't have covid, so in addition to being a full time student and working, I've also been taking care of very sick people. So far I'm good, and everyone is isolated, so no need to worry. It's just been a struggle finding time and motivation to write. The worst seems like it's behind us now, so from here on out I should be updating weekly on Sundays again. Today's chapter is still much shorter, but I wanted to get something to you guys. Thanks for your patience. Content warnings now in the end notes!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s a hesitation once Combeferre closes the door, and a murmuring of voices before Eponine appears in the doorway. She’s hard for Enjolras to see since it’s much brighter out there, but she shuts the door before it can hurt his eyes. She’s a sort of intimidating figure despite being a good five inches shorter than him and about as skinny. She holds up a blob of something and motions to it as she approaches the bed.</p>
<p>            “Ferre said he had your stuff, I figured you’d want it.”</p>
<p>            He sits up way to fast and then tries to suppress the pathetic noise that comes out when all of his ribs protest.</p>
<p>            “Hey, chill. Here,” she holds it out. This sort of feels like a trick, but logically, Enjolras knows there’s nothing she’d want with his stuff. It’s all garbage and stained clothes anyway. He takes it from her, trying not to act surprised when she gives it freely.</p>
<p>            “Thanks,” he says not looking up. Again, he knows it’s irrational, but he has to make sure everything is there. It is. He feels dizzy with relief. The old, tattered backpack and its sort of bad smell are so familiar and calming in this place that, should also be, but isn’t. Eponine watches him out of the corner of her eye and sits on the floor a few feet away. She’s sort of looking at her knees, like she doesn’t want him to know she’s watching, which he appreciates even though he can tell. He digs out his sweatshirt, which they must have taken off him at the hospital. It has blood stains on it- new and old- and it smells like dirt and sweat, but it feels like a hug from an old friend.</p>
<p>            “Oh also this,” Eponine tosses a thing of Gatorade onto the bed. “I figured you needed electrolytes or whatever. Marius has started running so they always have them in the fridge.”</p>
<p>            Enjolras nods and takes the drink. It seems like a safe bet he won’t throw this up. The concept of Marius running is sort of funny and distracting which is maybe why he says what he does next,</p>
<p>            “You still like him?” What the fuck. What the <em>fuck, </em>Enjolras? Why? He regrets his existence. Jesus Christ.</p>
<p>            “Jesus Christ,” Eponine shakes her head, “way to start with the easy questions.”</p>
<p>            “I’m so sorry,” <em>why </em>did he say that? Why why <em>why</em>? They barely know each other, she’s being nice. Her weird unhealthy crush on Marius was one of the few things he’s known about her before, but she didn’t <em>know</em> that he knew. “Fuck. I’m sorry-“</p>
<p>            “It’s fine dude. I’m more concerned about the fact that you knew that. Was I really that obvious freshman year?”</p>
<p>            He clears his throat, “Kind of? I mean I thought maybe? But to be honest Courfeyrac told me for sure.”</p>
<p>            “Fucking snitch,” she says lightly. “Anyway, I don’t really care. Like kind of? But to be honest I think I liked him freshman year because he was nice to me. And like, I think I sort of wanted what he had. Like, he had money, and his shit together etc. I don’t know, it’s been so long since he’s been single I sort of don’t think about it.” That was way more honesty than he was expecting. Or equipped to deal with.</p>
<p>“Right, well… that makes sense. I’m sorry I asked.”</p>
<p>She smiles, “It’s fine, I get it. You know, right now everyone is all in your shit, so it’s only fair you wanna be in mine. Honestly, it’s a relief, because I have no idea what to say, and you just broke the ice with like… a cannonball.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” he averts his eyes. This psychoanalysis crap is exactly what he’d wanted to avoid. Also why he agreed to talk to Eponine since he’d (wrongly) assumed that wouldn’t be in her wheelhouse. There’s probably a lesson there or something, about books and covers, but he’s really not in the mood to do more soul searching.</p>
<p>“Look,” says Eponine like she can sense how done he is. “I know kinda what you’re going through. Like, not really obviously, but kinda. I mean, my dad’s definitely beat the shit out of me before.” Both of them wince for different reasons. Eponine shakes her head. “Sorry, tact isn’t my strong suit. Anyway I get it. It’s kind of like being one of those semi-feral cats. Like, you need food and shelter so you put up with people, but you’re too preoccupied with survival for actual <em>friends.</em>”</p>
<p>He grunts noncommittally. It’s exactly like that, but he doesn’t have to agree.</p>
<p>“Anyway,” says Eponine, “I get it. That you can’t do friends or whatever and people saying they’re ‘here for you’ doesn’t help. But like, I’m here for you. In a not-friend way. Like I’m an ally right now, okay? Not a friend. And as your ally I’m telling you to stay here. At least for a little bit. And if people are too much call me over and I’ll just like- bring down the mood or something. I don’t know. I’ll shut them up.”</p>
<p>He clears his throat, “What’s in it for you?”</p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p>“You said we’re allies not friends, but right now it just sounds like you’re doing me a favor.”</p>
<p>She stares back at him for a long, hard moment. “My friends. They really care about you. That whole overwhelmingly sweet group of people out there care about you. And I care about them. If you stick around for a bit that’ll make them happy. And that’ll make me happy. And also significantly decrease how many emotional phone calls I get this week.”</p>
<p>The problem is, he knows she’s right. He can’t just leave in the dead of night. He feels like shit and he still hasn’t eaten enough, and most of all he looks like an easy target right now, what with the bruises on every inch of his body. Trying to find somewhere else to lay low and recover would be idiotic when he has a warm bed, pain killers, and a room full of people who all seem to want to feed him. But damn if the urge to leave almost wins out. He already owes them. One night, maybe that’s ok, but any longer? You can’t pay back taking up someone’s bed and eating their food and taking their time for multiple days. There’s no way to return that kind of favor.</p>
<p>“A week,” says Eponine. He looks up at her. She meets his eyes, and her gaze is so blatant and knowing that he can’t help but listen. “Stay a week. Heal up. They’ll be happy. You’ll be not dead in a ditch. It’s a win-win.”</p>
<p>He almost laughs, “Those aren’t equivalent.”</p>
<p>“Not to you.”</p>
<p>He looks down at the bag in his hands. All of his earthly possessions in one small, grubby backpack. How long has it even been since he’s gotten to wash his clothes? He looks back at Eponine. She’s objectively right and she knows it. They both know it.</p>
<p>“One week,” he says. “That’s all I’m agreeing to.”</p>
<p>She smiles, just a little, “That was the deal.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks so much for reading! Please pretty please like and/or comment if you enjoy this. I crave validation and also I love to scream about Les Mis with people. Happy Valentines Day! I promise this fic will be romantic eventually...</p>
<p>CW: Mentions of child abuse, brief description of injury</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. House Warming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi y'all! Sorry this is a day late, I wanted to give you guys a good chonk to make up for the last few weeks. It seems like my household is covid free (knock on wood)!!! Everyone is passed the point of being contagious, and everyone is feeling a lot better thank god. I think for the most part this week, I'm just going to be mentally recovering lol. Enjoy this chapter! Content warnings are in the end notes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            Enjolras has been sleeping so much and at such weird times in the past 24 hours, that time has lost all meaning. When he wakes up from his post-deep-talk nap, the clock on Courfeyrac’s desk says it’s 7pm, but it feels more like midnight. He doesn’t realize why he’s awake for a moment until he hears a knock at the door again.</p>
<p>            “You awake?” comes Courfeyrac’s voice. He tries to make a sound but it catches in his throat. He clears his throat to try again but the door opens a crack. “E? Can we come in? I have food.” Courf’s eyes peek around the door frame.</p>
<p>            Enjolras pulls himself onto his elbows and nods. The door opens wider and Combeferre and Courfeyrac come in, quiet and careful. He pulls himself into a proper sitting position and the pain leaves him momentarily breathless.</p>
<p>            “Easy,” says Combeferre, as Enjolras manages to take a breath, “let us help you.”</p>
<p>            “I’ve got it.” He does too, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell.</p>
<p>            “Can we sit?” asks Courf, motioning to the bed. He nods and pulls his one good leg closer to make room. It’s not like he could say no, it’s literally Courfeyrac’s bed. He and Combeferre arrange themselves at the other end and shift around until they’re settled. Courfeyrac reaches out and hands him a sleeve of crackers and a Pedialyte. “I figured it wouldn’t make you so nauseous. It’s unflavored.”</p>
<p>            Enjolras wants to say thanks but he can’t so he just nods and takes it. They both stare at him so he opens it and breaks the seal to avoid their gaze. It tastes like sort of gross water, but it does feel good to put something in his body. He takes a cracker.</p>
<p>            “Can we talk a bit?” asks Combeferre. “You can say no.” He can’t. He cannot say no when they’re housing him. They don’t seem to understand the deep debt he’s in. They don’t seem to see how trapped he is in this room. They aren’t trying to trap him, he distantly knows, but that almost makes it worse. Their kind eyes just add another layer of guilt. He thinks of his promise to Eponine. <em>Just one week. </em>He can do that. He’s done infinitely worse than that. He can <em>do </em>this.</p>
<p>            He nods, and this time his voice comes out, albeit creaky, “What do you want to know?”</p>
<p>            They share a look. Courf shuffles on the bed to face him more fully. “Could you tell us what happened? In broad strokes, no need for everything. But- where have you been? Since the hospital? The hospital last time. Last time we saw you.”</p>
<p>            He saw this coming. He knew they were going to ask and it’s unquestionable that they deserve answers, but he doesn’t know where to start. The lump in his throat rears back to life and his mind goes absolutely blank. There’s nothing. He genuinely can’t think of a single thing to tell them. Every answer to that question slips away like an eel.</p>
<p>            “Where did you go after the hospital? Let’s start there. I know that’s almost two years worth of answers.” Combeferre is far too understanding. He both hates it and feels deeply ashamed of how gentle they’re trying to be. “Start small. Where did your dad take you after the hospital?”</p>
<p>            “Home.” The word immediately sounds wrong. Not to be sappy, but home is usually supposed to be… well… he’s not sure. But “home is where the heart is” is a phrase he’s heard a million times, so he has an inkling it’s at least supposed to be a place you <em>like </em>existing.</p>
<p>            “Okay,” says Combeferre slowly, “how long were you there for?”</p>
<p>            “A month and a half I think.”</p>
<p>            “Got it. Why did you stop answering our calls?”</p>
<p>            He might cry. God it would be so bad to start crying now. It would be such a guilt trip, not to mention he’d even less coherent. He takes a long sip of the Pedialyte to stall, swallowing around the lump in his throat until it feels a little smaller. “I didn’t want to worry you. I had it handled. Then he broke my phone.” Ok he made it through. That wasn’t so bad.</p>
<p>            Combeferre hesitates for a moment. “You say you were there for a month and a half give or take.” He nods. “We- they- um. At the hospital, or in the ambulance really, they searched you for ID- that’s how they knew to contact me and Courf.” Courf smiles anxiously. “They found ID that said you were in the Marine Corps? Is that where you went after your dad’s?”</p>
<p>            Enjolras blinks for a second in silence. A thing that has been happening more and more in the past two years starts to happen, where he can feel all the stress in his body max out and just stop. Like his brain says <em>no that’s officially the limit, there’s only so much fear we can take.</em> He feels blank and oddly calm. There’s no need to cry. They already know half the story. Just tell them everything and they’ll leave.</p>
<p>            “Yes,” he says, and they both look startled at the slight change in his voice. Or maybe his demeanor, he doesn’t know how he looks, all he knows is that he feels nothing. “My dad saw that picture in the paper. He got really mad. More than normal anyway. He wanted me to release a statement or go to fake therapy or something. Something he could use to let his votership know that he was dealing with me. I didn’t want to. I told him I wouldn’t pretend the picture was a mixup or a phase or something. He couldn’t just say nothing though, since he’d been getting emails about his gay son, and he was scared he’d lose support if he didn’t address it. He was running for state senate that year, so he was especially paranoid. I just told him to disown me, since that seemed like the best option for both parties, but I guess that seemed like admitting defeat to him.” By this point Combeferre is very clearly keeping his face as blank as possible, and Courfeyrac is clenching his jaw and trying to blink away tears. He ignores them. Best to just get it all out in one go.</p>
<p>            “He said he was going to send me into the Marines. It’s what he and his dad both did, they’d wanted me to serve anyway. I said no, I said I’d just move out, but my bank account was linked to his. I made it when I was still in high school, so I had to attach it to an adult. He said he’d make sure I didn’t get any of it. Even the stuff I’d made from work-study was in there. He said if I did time in the Marines though, he’d let me keep my money. And they would pay for the rest of college if I finished my service with them. It seemed like the only option. Also, I wanted to get out of that house. I figured the Marines wouldn’t be as bad. It was though.” Courfeyrac looks like he wants to hold his hand, so he folds them firmly in his lap. No one is going to pity him right now. Under the extreme gray calm in his mind, he feels a flash of anger.</p>
<p>            “I did basic training. It was like, three months long. After that, they sent us to different places depending on what we were supposed to specialize in. I went to the school of infantry, in North Carolina. It was only about a month, but then they wanted to send me to even more infantry training. It was a lot of guns. It didn’t feel right, and I knew that after the Infantry Training Battalion, where they were sending me, I would probably get deployed.” Courfeyrac takes a sharp breath. Combeferre squeezes his hand, even though he’s tearing up too. “I couldn’t do that. So I-” here he falters for the first time. “I got myself out. Discharged or whatever, unfit for duty. My dad called and- he- I couldn’t go back to live with him. It was clear I either keep training or I was on my own. So I just left. I walked and hitchhiked a lot. I found a job in Virginia for a little bit. I had one in Pennsylvania too, later on. And odd jobs, obviously, since I was traveling. I thought I’d save what I could and get back here and talk to the school. Work something out since I wasn’t a dependent anymore. So, I made my way up the east coast, but I was mostly sleeping on benches. I stayed in some other places when it was cold, though. A few times I had to start over with saving. At that point it seemed pretty obvious I wasn’t going back to college, but I needed some place to go. I thought maybe I could go home. Maybe someone in the city who used to know me could help. But when I got to the area a few weeks ago, most people had moved, or they wouldn’t talk to me. I was going to make a new plan, but- I’d been in hostels and shelters some, but I was trying to save up faster, so I was outside most of the time. A couple days ago I stood up too fast and I passed out for a few hours at least. I know that’s bad, so I made my way to the house. I figured maybe at least I could reason with my mom. I could collect some of my old things or spend a few nights indoors. I figured I could get back on my feet.” He laughs a small sad laugh, and motions to his face. “I didn’t actually get past the front porch.”</p>
<p>            Combeferre takes a steadying breath, blinking back tears fiercely. “Jesus Christ E.” Courfeyrac opens his mouth like he’s going to echo the sentiment but then he just starts crying instead. Ferre gives him a bear hug, which makes Enjolras angry and jealous, and then angry again at himself because he <em>doesn’t want </em>a hug. “I wish we had known so much sooner. We could’ve helped you.”</p>
<p>            “It’s not your job,” he says, “I’m not your responsibility, I’m mine. I made dumb choices.”</p>
<p>            “You didn’t,” Courf gasps out between sobs, “you didn’t at all none of this is your fault. I’m so <em>sorry.</em>” And he’s incoherent again.</p>
<p>            “Do you have a plan now?” asks Ferre, after a few minutes of awkward, crying-filled silence.</p>
<p>            Enjolras shrugs, “I’ll find a place to stay. Maybe go back to the city. College towns this size don’t have a lot of shelters. Find a job. Avoid my dad.”</p>
<p>            “You have a place to stay,” Courferyac is only marginally calmed down. You’re staying here, we want to help you.”</p>
<p>            “No.” Both of them look a little baffled by how short he’s being. “I’m not going to take up your bed any longer. You and Marius already live here, I’ll find somewhere else.”</p>
<p>            “Stay with me,” interjects Combeferre. “I live off campus. I have an air mattress and a living room. There would be more space. You wouldn’t be taking up anybody’s bed.” This much more reasonable offer is harder to reject. Before he can think of a smart excuse Combeferre starts again. “Eponine said you promised her you’d stay a week. It’s Sunday. Stay on my air mattress until next Sunday. You can use my laptop to search for jobs, or whatever you need.” He meets Enjolras’s eyes. “Just- please. Please stay a week, like you said. There’s no pressure after that.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>Grantaire has a tinder date in an hour that he feels weirdly guilty about. He shouldn’t obviously, that’s so stupid, but he can’t help some dumb irrational part of his mind from feeling bad. He wants to say- and probably <em>will </em>say, if anyone asks- that it’s because they reunited with Enjolras yesterday and it feels weird to do something as mundane as tinder dates after that. Also they’re helping him move into Combeferre’s today, and it feels shitty not to be there. They’re using <em>Grantaire’s </em>own car, since he’s still the only one with a car of his own, but he’d told them he was busy. Technically he is, with this stupid tinder date. Which he definitely could have rescheduled (or just canceled honestly, its tinder). If he’s honest with himself, which he isn’t, it’s because it sort of feels like cheating. On Enjolras. Which is stupid. It’s <em>beyond </em>stupid, because they have never dated and will continue never dating until the end times. But some stupid little part of his head says to hold off on romance now that Enjolras is back. It’s also stupid because they don’t even know each other anymore. And the second first-impression he made was probably terrible considering he made eye contact, turned, and left without saying anything.</p>
<p>            See the thing is, the real reason he didn’t want to see Enjolras, is that he sort of used to have a small, casual, soul-consuming, life-altering crush on him back in freshman year. And sophomore year. And probably junior year even though Enjolras was MIA at that point. And though he was loathe to admit it, it may have been a huge part of his cycle of self-flagellation and mental illness. Unfair as it was to Enjolras, who really wasn’t mean, just didn’t pay him much attention, him coming back felt alarmingly like backsliding for Grantaire. But, as he had been reminding his brain for the past 24 hours, <em>Enjolras coming back doesn’t mean you’re going to revert back to freshman year. </em>Which is why he was determined to go on this date. He <em>wasn’t </em>cheating on Enjolras in any universe, Enjolras wouldn’t even <em>care </em>about this date, and it was proof that he wasn’t backsliding. He was going on this fucking date and that was that.</p>
<p>            He texts the guy to confirm they’re still meeting at Starbucks in an hour. He’s doing this. It’s good for him, it’s like a promise he’s not going to go back to unhealthy pining and depression spirals. It’s been two years, he’s grown a lot. A smaller, even stupider, optimistic voice in his head says, <em>you</em> have <em>grown, maybe this time it’ll work out. </em></p>
<p>Shut up, he tells it.</p>
<p> The guy texts back confirming, and R starts in the direction of Starbucks for lack of anything better to do. It does feel vaguely wrong to be going on a date still, even if he’s gone through this argument over and over. No matter what, Enjolras is their friend. And they just found him again in bad shape after so long. But also, he clearly wants space, so it’s not like R is being a dick. At least, no more than usual. Enjolras wouldn’t want them to all hover and constantly check in. Maybe after the date, he’ll text Combeferre just to check in. No matter how cool he wants to be about this, he can’t stop seeing Enjolras’s bruised face, his wild eyes, in his memory.</p>
<p>            He tries to shake it off. This is bad first date material. <em>Don’t be a fucking bummer, Grantaire. </em>By the time he gets to Starbucks, he’s almost succeeded in putting it from his mind. Then he gets a table and orders a coffee and he thinks about if he should guess this guy’s order and get him something, and then he’s thinking about how Enjolras likes his coffee (he doesn’t, but he drinks it with truly frightening amounts of milk and sugar), and <em>then </em>he’s thinking about if Enjolras likes coffee now, if this different Enjolras has a different order, and then he’s back to thinking about the bruises across his face and how much Grantaire wishes he had <em>said something</em>. His tinder date shows up after a half hour. The guy is nice, he’s totally polite and unremarkable. He seems to like Grantaire and he gets a black coffee. His eyes don’t look anything but vaguely flirtatious. R texts Bossuet under the table to create an emergency and he begs off after 45 minutes.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>            Moving into Combeferre’s is easy, given that he has a single backpack’s worth of stuff. It turns out Combeferre shares an apartment with Jehan, a little ways off campus. It’s well within walking distance, since town isn’t that big but they use Grantaire’s car anyway because a recently dislocated hip and a million broken ribs make for slow going. Enjolras <em>really </em>hadn’t wanted to that, partially because he could walk fine, it just took longer, and also mainly because it’s hard to forget the look of horror Grantaire had last time. Luckily, the next day when the shitty car pulls up, it’s Eponine who’s driving, with Cosette in the passenger seat.</p>
<p>            “Get in losers, we’re going shopping,” says Cosette. Courfeyrac snorts.</p>
<p>            Ferre raises an eyebrow, “Where’s R?”</p>
<p>            “He’s busy,” Eponine rolls her eyes, “with a <em>tinder date.</em>”</p>
<p>            “That little shit,” says Courfeyrac fondly, sliding into the back seat. Combeferre follows, and then Enjolras, who perches his grubby backpack on his lap. He feels momentarily bad, because it really is pretty gross. So is he, he’s still wearing his bloodstained hoodie like a weirdo. At least he borrowed Courfeyrac’s deodorant. Small comforts.</p>
<p>            “It’s fine,” says Eponine, “technically I still only have my permit so Cosette is here to say she’s teaching me if we get pulled over.”</p>
<p>            “Which we <em>won’t,” </em>Cosette emphasizes, “because you’re not going to speed or disregard stop signs like a <em>maniac, </em>this time.” She flicks Eponine’s shoulder, who gives an exaggerated nod. This interaction is mildly baffling to Enjolras, since the last time he was around them, he’s pretty sure Eponine hated Cosette. Or at least was mad at her about the whole Marius thing. Anyway, they definitely didn’t hang out a lot.</p>
<p>            “This time?” asks Combeferre, “How is there even a last time. Neither of you have a car.”</p>
<p>            “Well….” Says Cosette before Eponine turns in the driver’s seat.</p>
<p>            “Let’s just say I’m officially on Mr. Valjean’s shitlist.”</p>
<p>            “That is not true! He just doesn’t want you to drive his car!”</p>
<p>            “Jesus Christ,” mutters Enjolras, as they take off in the midst of this incredibly reassuring argument. Courf snorts again.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>            Shockingly, they do actually make it to Combeferre’s in relative peace. For all her talk of shenanigans, Eponine is a pretty good driver, and it seems like she’s trying to go easy on purpose if her glances in the rear view mean anything. The apartment is blessedly only up one flight of stairs, which is still hell, but at least they don’t have to make multiple trips. When they open the door, they’re faced with a joint kitchen and living room in a faded sage green color. At the living room end, next to a deeply uncomfortable looking couch, is the air mattress, which has a clothes drying rack in front of it covered by a sheet. It gives maybe one quarter cover to the space, but it looks like it was set up to supposedly provide privacy. Jehan is sitting at the kitchen table grinning and they spring up immediately when the door opens.</p>
<p>            “Hi welcome!” they look like they want to be hugging all of them but make a very concerted effort to play with their hair instead.</p>
<p>            “Heyyyy,” says Eponine, making herself comfortable on a counter top. Everyone else spreads out easily, like they live here too.</p>
<p>            “Thanks for letting me stay here,” says Enjolras awkwardly, because he has to say <em>something</em>.</p>
<p>            “Of course sweetheart!” says Jehan with so much enthusiasm, “It wasn’t a question of ‘let,’ we’re so glad you agreed!” They must notice how uncomfortable he looks. “Here! Pull up a chair, put down your shit, I made a cake!”</p>
<p>            “I was gonna ask about that.” Courfeyrac points to the asymmetrical brown shape on a plate in the center of the table. It has a swirly pattern that could be waves etched into the frosting.</p>
<p>            “Yeah…” Jehan sighs. “I was going for a tie dye effect, but I think I over-tied the dye so it just turned brown. I promise it tastes good though! Come on, before you unpack or whatever, everyone try some. It’s a mini house warming!”</p>
<p>            The cake actually <em>is </em>really good, despite its disturbing exterior. It tastes like nutmeg and ginger, and other sweet and spicy things Enjolras can’t name. Despite his reluctance to eat at a table with other people, which provides openings for conversation, he relaxes more than he probably should. He hasn’t had fresh cake in forever, and this one was baked, in part, for him. It’s very sweet, and Jehan’s enthusiasm for the cake combined with its appearance, make him feel less guilty for enjoying it. Jehan clearly doesn’t bake very often, and they didn’t have to do this, ergo they did it because they wanted to. So enjoying it a little feels acceptable. It really is good cake, although again, he might be biased.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>CW for chapter 6: non-graphic descriptions of injury, referenced child abuse, the military in general, passing mention of depression/self hatred, description of anxiety/trauma responses</p>
<p>Please please kudos and/or comment if you enjoyed!!!! I will be replying to comments from the past few weeks in the next couple days, but know that I read ALL of them. I crave validation and i'm delighted if my work resonates with anyone. Also! I know I used he/him for Jehan in chapter 4, and now I'm using they/them. This specific version of them uses he/they, but he's very much nonbinary &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. One Sugar Cube</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi guys! It's me, I'm not dead! I'm so sorry this update has taken a million years. Basically, playing catch up after not doing several weeks of schoolwork was alot, but I'm mostly back on track now. I should actually be updating every Sunday again. If you enjoy this, please comment and/or kudo, and come say hi on tumblr @jesuisserieux! Content warnings in the end notes!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            Enjolras throws up the cake half an hour later, which definitely puts a damper on things. In his defense, he hasn’t consumed this much food this regularly in over year, how was he supposed to know what would happen? It’s not just that he’s not used to it either, the meds make him nauseous and sleepy. Not taking them isn’t an option though, not now that he’s dry heaved over a toilet and his ribs feel like they’ve been rebroken. It’s his fault really, he’d gotten a bit too comfortable out there, what with the cake and the people socializing around him. This is a good reminder he needs to stay alert. <em>Stay alert for what? </em>the rational part of his mind asks. It’s not like there’s actually an imminent threat. These are good people. They’re feeding him. They have no reason to hurt him. Things are hazier now, so he decides to double check all that when he feels less high.</p>
<p>            “Hey.”</p>
<p>            He jolts, eyes flying open, and then resumes resting most of his head on Combeferre and Jehan’s toilet. It’s Eponine, staring at him through the cracked door. He must have dozed off, he would have heard it open. She pushes the door open wider and enters the room just a little, carrying a glass of water. “Were you asleep?”</p>
<p>            He shrugs. She holds out the water, and he gingerly takes it. It’s nice, it feels good on his throat even if it momentarily makes him want to vomit again. He stays in his position on the floor, just in case. The last thing he needs to do is throw up all over Combeferre’s house, after he’s agreed to impose on him for a whole week.</p>
<p>            Eponine regards him, “Does it hurt?”</p>
<p>            “What?”</p>
<p>            “Throwing up.” He swallows another mouthful of water, careful to pace himself.</p>
<p>            “I guess.”</p>
<p>            “You’re crying,” says Eponine, “Did you know that?”</p>
<p>            He reaches up to feel his face with both hands and nearly gives himself a second black eye with the glass of water. Feeling more carefully, she’s right. Tears of pain. Probably from throwing up. The stairs and the car ride probably didn’t help. Tears of pain are bullshit. They aren’t optional, they don’t make you feel better, and they’re like a giant flashing sign that says <em>hi I’m vulnerable! Pick on me right now I won’t fight back! </em>He <em>always</em> fights back, regardless of how much pain he’s in, but other people don’t know that, and it sure doesn’t help to already be fucked up before a fight. Not that Eponine is going to fight him. He knows that logically, she just brought him a glass of water. She’s still watching him blurrily wipe his eyes.</p>
<p>            She nods to the toilet, “You done?” This feels a little patronizing so he just stands and flushes it in answer. God he’s tired. He hasn’t even done anything today and he’s tired. He almost drops the glass of water.</p>
<p>            “Drink more of that,” says Eponine over her shoulder. He follows her back into the living room, trying not to look like someone who would lose a fight. “Do you want any help unpacking?”</p>
<p>            He shakes his head. There’s not a lot to unpack, and anyway, he doesn’t think he’ll be unpacking just yet. Always better to be ready to move, that’s what he’s learned. Combeferre stands from where he was no doubt having a hushed conversation with the others.</p>
<p>            “Oh yeah, also you can do a load of laundry if you want. I don’t know if you’ve had access to a laundromat recently.” Enjolras regards him cautiously, because there could always be some veiled meaning in a sentence like that, something that means <em>I’m just saying this to be nice, don’t take me seriously</em>, but it doesn’t sound like it. Not to mention that his clothes haven’t seen a washing machine in weeks and they are definitely disgusting.</p>
<p>            “You sure?”</p>
<p>Combeferre seems surprised, “Yeah absolutely! You can also shower if you want. Not that- I mean that wasn’t a comment on your appearance, I just think it would be good for all your scrapes. To get properly clean I mean.” He looks awkwardly at Courf for support.</p>
<p>            “Also you have dried blood in your hair,” says Eponine, “and that’s gross. Probably for you more than me.” Enjolras narrows his eyes at her. She shrugs in return, raising her eyebrows like <em>you want me to lie to you? </em>He guesses not.</p>
<p>            “Is that ok?” he asks Combeferre. And then Jehan, because this is Jehan’s house too and he’s being really rude not including them.</p>
<p>            “Oh for sure!” says Jehan, “actually-</p>
<p>            “Oh Christ,” says Eponine, deadpan.</p>
<p>            “-you can use any of the bath products in there you want! I have a bunch of shit from lush right now- they’re cruelty free don’t worry- and it’s way more than we can use. It’s all in the box by the sink!”</p>
<p>            “He was a seasonal worker at Lush until holidays ended,” explains Courfeyrac, with an expression of someone who no longer considers Lush products as “novelty.”</p>
<p>            “Thanks,” says Enjolras shortly. The lump in his throat is back and it won’t allow him more than that. He nods at Combeferre and tries to make something akin to a smile. Jehan is just so <em>sweet</em>, why did they have to make him a cake and offer him Lush products and remember how much he hates animal testing after all this time? It’s too much to stand while he’s already in pain.</p>
<p>            “Where’s y’all’s washer?” asks Eponine, and he feels an immense wave of relief as a few people in the room stop looking at him.</p>
<p>            “Oh right through here,” Combeferre springs into action. “Here, follow me.”</p>
<p>            “I leave some bath products I think you might like on the counter,” says Jehan as he follows after Combeferre to the closet that is the laundry room. Enjolras still can’t talk but he manages to turn back and give Jehan an incredibly sad thumbs up.</p>
<p>            Combeferre lets him use his detergent- in fact insists, when Enjolras says it’s ok. It smells like lavender, and all his clothes come out still stained- but shades lighter without the grime. He takes a shower, sitting down half the time when he’s dizzy, and the hot water lasts the entire fifteen minutes. Jehan has left out something very colorful called a shower scrub, which he doesn’t use, and three kinds of soap in various garish colors. He picks one that sort of looks like a rock, and smells like some kind of herb. He washes his hair with the soap, and it leaves tiny sparkles. It feels like he hasn’t been clean in a thousand years.</p>
<p>            Combeferre gives him flannel pajama bottoms and a soft t shirt to sleep in. The air mattress has clean sheets on it. It smells like the lavender laundry detergent. Everything is so <em>clean. </em>Someone- probably Eponine- has moved it so it’s in a corner next to the couch. The weird sheet-laundry-rack-privacy-screen has been moved in front so now the only way he’s exposed is if someone stands against the wall, and stares at the foot of the bed. It’s nice. It’s quiet, <em>so </em>quiet, and it smells good, and even though he feels a hundred kinds of guilty for taking up space like this, he knows on some level that these people won’t hurt him. There’s nothing of his they’d want to steal, and there’s nothing to gain by being nice only to trick him. It’s a strange clash in his mind- the <em>trust no one</em> attitude coming up against the knowledge that these people are fundamentally <em>good. </em>Cosette and Eponine head out, and offer to drive Courfeyrac back to the dorms. Enjolras sits on the corner bed, since it’s where he’s supposed to be for the time being. He tries not to look exhausted, but soon after Combeferre goes to his room to do some homework, and then invites Jehan in to help him with something, so it seems like he wasn’t that subtle. He’s too tired to feel properly guilty about that. He takes another pain killer and slips under the three blankets and a sheet that they’ve given him. It might be the softest, best bed he’s ever been in. That could just be because it smells nice, and he’s clean for what feels like the first time ever. He’s asleep before he can even worry about occupying the living room in the middle of the day.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>            R is in the middle of venting to Bossuet about his date when Eponine, Cosette, and Courfeyrac all barge in without knocking.</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ what is with you people?” he says, “I can never escape.”</p>
<p>Bossuet laughs, “I invited them!”</p>
<p>“What the hell for?” asks R incredulously.</p>
<p>“Because I knew you'd be here, and I asked if we could come over to hear about the date!” says Courf.</p>
<p>“Yes, the date you ditched moving for,” says Eponine, sitting down next to him and immediately hogging the couch.</p>
<p>“I didn't <em>ditch, </em>I already had plans.”</p>
<p>“Plans you could've canceled.”</p>
<p>R rolls his eyes, “It doesn't matter anyway. You said yourself he has <em>one </em>bag and he had plenty of you to help him carry it up the single flight of stairs.”</p>
<p>“Yeah yeah,” says Eponine, “So how’d it go?”</p>
<p>“Fine,” he lies.</p>
<p>“He texted me halfway through to get out of it,” says Bossuet.</p>
<p>She gives him a Look, “Why am I not surprised?”</p>
<p>“What are you scared of?” asks Cosette, taking a seat on the floor.</p>
<p>“I'm not scared of anything!” R insists.</p>
<p>Courfeyrac plops down next to Cosette, “Liar.”</p>
<p>“What are you, my therapist?” asks R. He sighs, “I just wasn't expecting to see him again. And… I'm not ready, is that so bad?”</p>
<p>“Do you think any of us were ready?” asks Courfeyrac. “Do you think this is like, fun, for the rest of us?”</p>
<p>“You get your best friend back,” says R.</p>
<p>“Yeah. My incredibly traumatized best friend. So fun.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” says R, a little more carefully, “but it's like, it’s good news. Like, you know where he is now at least. You guys are still friends! It's different, he hated me before, it's not like there's any reason for me to hang around now that he's traumatized.”</p>
<p>“He didn't hate you before, says Cosette.</p>
<p>“He just didn't know you existed before,” corrects Ep.</p>
<p>Courf rolls his eyes, “Both of those are not true. He just he didn't understand- he thought you were fine. You just never talked because it was awkward and neither of you knew each other. He still thought of you as a friend though, I mean why do you think he decked that guy that last time?”</p>
<p>“Righteous fury,” Grantaire deadpans.</p>
<p>“That too,” says Courfeyrac, “but that's not the whole story. You know that.”</p>
<p> R sighs, “I guess I do. I just- I'm scared ok?” it comes out weakly.</p>
<p>“Well don't be,” says Courf, “because he's definitely more scared of <em>all</em> of us then you are of him.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t be so sure, says R drily.</p>
<p>“I would,” says Ep, “I mean, I don't know him as well as you, Courf, but I know his type- <em>our </em>type. I know he's been through some shit, I sort of get what he's feeling right now and he's he scared. You know, there's- there's a reason <em>a week</em> was the deadline I gave him. ‘Cause any longer and he would have run.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, he definitely seems more comfortable around you than the rest of us,” says Courf, with a hint of jealousy.</p>
<p>“Because we understand each other's attitude, not because we're best friends. Don't worry, I'm not replacing you. You know, like feral street cats. Like recognizes like.”</p>
<p>“You're not a feral street cat,” sighs Cosette.</p>
<p>“Pretty close to it anyway,” says Ep.</p>
<p>“What are you so scared of? Like what do you think's going to happen?” asks Bossuet. Which is a question R was hoping everyone would politely avoid. He knows he needs to be honest with them- another thing he and his therapist have been working on, honesty when people who love him a.k.a. his friends check in- it doesn't mean he likes it.</p>
<p>“I don't know,” he says.</p>
<p>“I mean I just- do you honestly think after all he's been through, he’s still gonna feel the exact same way as he did two years ago towards you?” asks Eponine, “because that's just unrealistic.”</p>
<p>“No, it's not even that,” says R, “I just- I was-,” he takes a deep breath. “Kay we all know I liked him, right? We’re just acknowledging that?” Everyone in the room nods. He is really shit at keeping secrets. “I just I- I liked him, but I sort of hated myself? And now, I don't hate myself but I'm not, you know,” he chuckles nervously, “self-love isn't my forte so I- I know it’s shitty,” he says apologetically to Courfeyrac, “but I'm scared. I'm just scared of what being around him will do to me.” Cosette exhales and gives him a hug. It’s pathetic how much it helps. <em>No it's not</em>, the therapist in his head says.</p>
<p>“Listen,” says Courfeyrac quietly, “that concern makes sense, but I can guarantee that he is different. I mean he's been through,” he chokes up a little, “so much, he is a different person than then, <em>you're</em> a different person! I mean it's been two fucking years, all of us are different people now! But especially him.”</p>
<p>“Yeah I know,” says R. “I guess I'm also a little scared of that, I guess. What if this new E also doesn't like me, or what if he does and I don't like him? What if I don't? Like that's terrifying, I mean you don't know!”</p>
<p>“I know. None of us know him, that's the point,” says Courf, looking a little angry, “The point is that none of us know the stuff he’s been through, and we're all gonna get to know him because he's our <em>friend.</em> And it's been a minute, he's not the Enjolras you were so obsessed with, he's just a guy! But he's still like, a nice person now I assume, and Jesus the amount of times he's apologized to me-”</p>
<p>R looks up, “Really?”</p>
<p>“<em>Yes</em>,” says everyone, so presumably this is something only he’s missed.</p>
<p>“Yeah he's reallllly anxious and polite,” Eponine says, “he offered to go find housing on his own.”</p>
<p>“Jesus Christ. Ok yeah I know he needs support, but so far he hasn’t needed <em>my </em>support. I mean, is it worth the risk if I piss him off and then you have two deeply depressed friends?”</p>
<p>“No but maybe this would be good, if you see he’s just a human,” says Eponine.</p>
<p>“I don't want to do that,” says R.</p>
<p>“Too bad,” says Courf, “he <em>is </em>a human, a good human. And you know he’d do the same for you.”</p>
<p>It's a low blow, but it's true and everyone in the room knows it.</p>
<p>Grantaire sighs, “Fine, I'll come by at some point this week.</p>
<p>“This week is all you have, for sure,” Eponine reminds him.</p>
<p>“I know,” he says, “just give me some time.”</p>
<p>“Of course, no one is asking you to do anything right away,” she says pointedly to Courf, “just think about it.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” says R.</p>
<p>“Maybe we’ll get a couple people together before the week is out!” says Courf.</p>
<p>“You're definitely gonna have to fight him on a get-together,” says Ep.</p>
<p>“I know,” he says “but I'm willing to do that. He can't,” he takes a deep breath, composes himself, “I can't lose him again.”</p>
<p>            “Just tell him you had a pizza party already planned at their house or some shit,” says Eponine. “He won’t want to fuck up your plans.” She hesitates, then adds, “maybe don’t invite <em>everyone</em> though? He seemed freaked out today and there were only like, five of us.”</p>
<p>            “I’ll invite our chilliest friends,” says Courfeyrac.</p>
<p>            “And Grantaire.”</p>
<p>            “<em>And </em>Grantaire.”</p>
<p>            R flips them both off, then raises his eyebrows at Eponine. A silent plea of <em>please free me from this conversation and give me the car keys</em>. She does, thank god, but he still needs to drive everyone back to their homes/dorms, which means hearing more about how to gently force friendship on Enjolras. The entire car ride, Courfeyrac is spitballing ideas for building up to hugs<em>.</em></p>
<p>~</p>
<p>            The sound of something clattering off the kitchen tile is what wakes up Enjolras. He’s normally a light sleeper, so he wakes disoriented and halfway to his feet. Unfortunately, his leg still isn’t working super well, and he has multiple blankets on top of him, so he crumples about three quarters of the way to standing and smacks his back into the wall.</p>
<p>            “Fucking <em>shit</em>,” he hisses, at the same time that Jehan drops the spatula a second time and shrieks.</p>
<p>            “Fuck!” they exclaim, picking up the spatula to wash again, “You scared me, oh my god. Sorry if I woke you up.”</p>
<p>            “It’s fine,” Enjolras blinks back tears of pain and slide-stumbles on the couch.</p>
<p>            “You ok?” asks Jehan.</p>
<p>            “Yeah,” he tries to look ok. He tries to calm his racing heart before it speeds out of control again.</p>
<p>            “Sorry again,” says Jehan, “I’m making us pancakes. I was going to wait until you got up, but you kept sleeping, and I didn’t want to interrupt. So, I tried just making tea and you stayed asleep, so I figured I could keep going, it didn’t seem to bug you.”</p>
<p>            “It didn’t.” He can’t remember the last time he slept so well. Slept to the point of being disoriented and squinty when he woke up. Somehow, he feels even more exhausted than when he went to bed. Usually, he’s awake at the first whisper of something. His nights don’t even feel like sleep half the time, he’s shifting in and out of consciousness so much. He feels a spike of fear, for sleeping so soundly, that he <em>knows </em>is irrational. But what if something happened? What if someone broke in or his dad found them and he was asleep?</p>
<p>            Jehan sits gently on the other end of the couch, but it still makes him jump. “Hey sweetie,” they say, with a smile that is both warm and sad. It makes Enjolras want to scream, the pity in their eyes. “You look like you might be panicking, can I touch you?”</p>
<p>            “No,” says Enjolras, drawing back a little more forcefully than he intended. It sends more pain through his ribs, which doesn’t make it any easier to breathe.</p>
<p>            “Ok,” says Jehan, “I’m going to get Combeferre and then keep making us pancakes.”</p>
<p>            “No,” he says again, because this isn’t an emergency, they don’t need to constantly all be worrying around him, but it’s ineffectual because Jehan has already disappeared into one of the bedrooms. He comes back a minute later, and begins ladling pancake batter onto a skillet. Combeferre emerges a second later and takes Jehan’s spot at the other end of the couch.</p>
<p>            “Morning,” he says, “the ribs hurt?”</p>
<p>            “A little,” says Enjolras. Combeferre gives him a neutral look, that still screams disbelief somehow. Enjolras can feel his breathe evening out a little, instead the blankness is filling his chest and his brain, but at least that’s something only he can see.</p>
<p>            “Once you eat you can take a pain killer,” Ferre says. “Until then, do you want anything? We have tea, coffee… orange juice I think?”</p>
<p>            Caffeine sounds good, since he’s exhausted, but he also doesn’t know if it will trigger more panic, it’s hard to tell these days.</p>
<p>            “I’ll take tea? If it’s caffeinated.” Combeferre gives him a look that almost seems like approval and goes to make coffee for himself, and boil water for tea. Enjolras sits there being useless. He’s still consumed with self-loathing when Combeferre hands him a cup of tea.</p>
<p>            “Thanks,” he says awkwardly, wrapping his hands around the smooth, blue mug and taking a sip. It’s <em>perfect</em>. The tea is so good, he can feel some of the blankness back off for a second. He hasn’t had proper tea in over a year. <em>He </em>doesn’t even remember how he likes it, and yet somehow Combeferre had remembered to put in sugar cube and a tiny bit of milk. He could cry, but he won’t obviously, because that’s what they’re all trying to avoid.</p>
<p>            “Thanks,” he says again, and makes eye contact with Ferre, very briefly. Combeferre smiles<em>.</em></p>
<p>“No problem, you want to eat at the table or here? We watch tv half the time when we’re eating breakfast, it’s awful I know.”</p>
<p>            The way he talks, like they’re still friends and Enjolras’s opinion on where they eat breakfast matters, is so warm. He doesn’t know how to deal with it, so he just smiles awkwardly, and says, “Couch is fine.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so so much for reading! If you enjoy, please like and comment. I treasure each and every comment, and I read them whenever I need more warmth in my life.</p>
<p>CW for chapter 7: non-graphic description of throwing up, references to depression and self-loathing, non- graphic description of anxiety and trauma responses</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Left Alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone! Me, looking pointedly at the claims that I'll update once a week: so that was a fucking lie. Senior year of college in a pandemic is hard, who knew? Anyways, I'm giving myself more leeway since everything is so stressful right now. I'm gonna try and stick to a chapter every two weeks, and if I happen to be productive and do more than that, then fantastic! Sorry about the delays, I'm so grateful to everyone reading this, I really want to make it as good as I can for you guys, that's why I'm taking the extra time. Cw in the end notes, I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>            Courfeyrac arrives a half hour before anyone is supposed to, bearing a pizza and an incredible amount of beer and soda. Enjolras hears the knock on the door and feels something in him rise up and try to run away. Logically he’s sure it’s probably one of Combeferre and Jehan’s friends, but he’s already on edge what with the surprise gathering sprung on him yesterday, and some irrational part of his mind says <em>run. </em></p>
<p>            “I’ll get it!” says Jehan from their room. They enter the living room wearing a lot of… <em>something </em>in their hair. Whatever they’re doing, they appear to not be done, carrying a handful of something brightly colored as they rush to get the door. “Hey Courf!” they say, and the sounds of vigorous hugging are heard.</p>
<p>            “I like the hairdo!” says Courf as they step inside, setting the food down, “are those pipe cleaners?”</p>
<p>            “They are!” exclaims Jehan delightedly, “I’m trying something new. It’s not done yet, does it look like it’s working?”</p>
<p>            “I don’t know,” says Courfeyrac tactfully, “I need to see the finished product first.” He turns to Enjolras, “Hey E, glad you’re here.” All Enjolras can manage in return is a wave and an approximation of a smile. Luckily, Combeferre comes out of his room at that moment, pipe cleanerless, and a welcome distraction from what will undoubtedly be more pitying glances.</p>
<p>            “Hey,” Ferre smiles, “you’re early.”</p>
<p>            “Yeah, I got hungry sooner than I thought,” says Courfeyrac, as they do a weird side-hug looking thing, “Plus I’m only, like, 20 minutes early now.” He opens the box and grabs a slice of pizza before collapsing onto the sofa near Enjolras. “Want a slice?”</p>
<p>            “I’m okay,” says Enjolras, he’s already been eating Combeferre’s food for a few days, he doesn’t need to be anymore indebted than he already is. Courfeyrac narrows his eyes, like he knows what he’s thinking.</p>
<p>            “You sure? There’s way more than we’ll be able to eat.” Enjolras looks skeptically toward the singular pizza. “Grantaire is bringing a pizza too,” says Courf, “and Cosette. Trust me we’ll have plenty. And if you’re about to offer to pay me back, save your breath, I am actively <em>choosing </em>to gift you this pizza. Think of it as a welcome home pizza.”</p>
<p>The idea of home, and gifts, and welcome-home-gifts makes him nauseous so he just nods and tries not to think about eating, or homes, or being trapped, or how many people are going to be crowded into this tiny space before the night is over.</p>
<p>            Combeferre grabs slices for himself and Jehan, and then offers a piece to Enjolras, “If you’re still not reassured, just know that Eponine has never in her life contributed to one of these pizza things, and <em>she </em>actually has a job.” Enjolras feels a little bad that that actually does make him feel better. He takes the pizza. Hopefully everyone will stop looking and talking at him.</p>
<p>            The next fifteen or so minutes pass with the sounds of pizza being eaten, and gossip being shared. Enjolras abstains from both, and he can’t help but feel guilty for the worried looks Jehan keeps “subtly” giving him. There’s another knock at the door, but this one, he’s a little more ready for, and it seems like only Courf notices his sharp inhale. Combeferre opens the door and Eponine, Cosette, and Grantaire all pour in, shedding jackets and pizza boxes. Cosette gives him a smile and a wave, and Grantaire makes brief eye contact and then immediately looks away. Eponine wanders over and squishes Jehan to make a spot for herself.</p>
<p>            “Hey,” she says, “Are you gonna eat that?”</p>
<p>            “Hm?” he follows her gaze and looks down at the cold pizza in his lap. “Oh, no, here.” He hands her the plate.</p>
<p>            She takes a bite and grimaces, “Jesus this is cold, what’s wrong with you?”</p>
<p>            “Sorry.”</p>
<p>            She takes another bite, “No Enjolras, you’re not supposed to apologize when I’m being a dick. You’re supposed to tell me to fuck off.”</p>
<p>            “Oh.”</p>
<p>            “Look, sorry, what I mean is, don’t take me too seriously. I’m being rude because I feel like it sets people at ease. Like they don’t have to be so nice to me. So you don’t have to be so nice.”</p>
<p>            “Ok.”</p>
<p>            “You want a slice of actual <em>warm </em>pizza?” she asks, finishing his slice with three gigantic bites. It’s gross and a little impressive. “I got it from this place called Tony’s off the highway. Or well, R got it. But anyway, it’s definitely better than Papa Johns.” She looks scornfully at Courfeyrac, who hasn’t heard any of this.</p>
<p>            “Sure,” he says, since she’s already getting up. That, and also the room is getting louder with more people here, and chewing gives him an excuse not to talk. Eponine seems to get this, since once he starts eating, she switches conversations and begins helping Jehan put the rest of the pipe cleaners in his hair.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>            This is truly one of the most painfully awkward experiences since the last time he interacted with Enjolras. He hasn’t even said <em>hi</em> since arriving, and everyone else is too polite or sensitive to point out how fucking awkward it’s become. This time though, to his credit, it’s not just R. Enjolras, who’d never really been an <em>extrovert </em>per say, has barely said a word, and only looked him in the eye for a second, before going back to being a statue. The only way to tell he’s still paying attention is how his gaze occasionally flickers over whoever’s speaking. The rest of the time he’s looking down, not entirely convincingly absorbed in his pizza. It would be more convincing if he’d actually eaten more than a few bites, which is a shame. I mean, Tony’s definitely isn’t <em>gourmet, </em>but it’s probably the second best pizza in town.</p>
<p>            They’ve formed an oblong circle with Enjolras, Eponine, Jehan, and Courfeyrac on the couch, and then Combeferre, R, and Cosette perched on the floor in various semi-prone positions. He’s trying to act normal but he can tell he’s failing because occasionally Cosette will kick him covertly. He chances a glance back up at Enjolras. He’s not looking up, just quietly studying the pizza again. Grantaire wants to scream. This is torture, sitting here watching him and pretending like everything about this situation isn’t incredibly fucked up. He still looks like he hasn’t eaten or slept in a year. The black eye is turning a little yellow at the edges which is probably good, but looks disgusting. Just the idea that anything about Enjolras could be disgusting is so foreign to him. <em>Enjolras </em>is foreign to him. He’s nothing like he remembered, he seems like someone made a copy of the old Enjolras when the printer was running out of ink. It’s horrible. It’s also so hard to look away from.</p>
<p>            Enjolras briefly looks up at something Cosette’s said and his eyes find Grantaire’s, like he could tell he was staring. He looks at him for a long moment, before realizing what he’s doing. He goes back to studying his pizza. R tries to play it off and goes to the bathroom.</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>            By the time the evening has hit 9, they’ve demolished the pizza and most of the drinks. Eponine has decided she wants a candy bar, and Cosette then points out that it’s a school night and they should be going home anyway, and then Jehan agrees with Eponine about the chips, and it’s decided that they’ll make their way out by way of the corner store. R still has to drive the girls home, and Courf needs to catch the bus before they stop running.</p>
<p>            “I’ll come with,” says Combeferre, “see you guys off. Walk Jehan back.” He looks expectantly at Enjolras, who shakes his head.</p>
<p>            “I’ll stay here, thanks.”</p>
<p>            “You sure?” asks Jehan. He nods awkwardly.</p>
<p>            “Ok, no worries,” says Cosette, “it was nice to see you, E.”</p>
<p>            “You too,” his smile is painfully forced.</p>
<p>            They all file down the staircase, exchanging weird waves with Enjolras, and breathing sighs of relief (at least on Grantaire’s part) when they leave. Once they’re all outside and the apartment building door has shut, Grantaire finally feels like he can relax.</p>
<p>            “Jesus R,” says Eponine, “wait to make an effort.”</p>
<p>            Cosette gives her a look, “be nice, that was awkward for everyone, I think.”</p>
<p>            “Definitely awkward, agrees Jehan, “but we’re getting there, I think he sort of chuckled at my joke.”</p>
<p>            “That’s because it was awful,” says R.</p>
<p>            The conversation moves from Jehan’s terrible puns, to Bossuet and something he told R last weekend, and carries them all the way through splitting up and reconvening at the counter of the corner store.</p>
<p>            “Ah shit,” says R, feeling in his pockets, “I forgot my wallet.”</p>
<p>            “No you didn’t, you paid for the pizza,” Eponine points out. Right. He did.</p>
<p>            “I probably left it in your apartment, goddammit.”</p>
<p>            “It’s fine, I can get your chips,” says Courf, “I have cash.”</p>
<p>            “No but I’m gonna need it tomorrow, let me just run back and get it.”</p>
<p>            “You sure?” asks Combeferre. He looks like he’s thinking the same thing as R, which is <em>this is going to be so incredibly painfully awkward if it’s just R and Enjolras in the apartment, no matter how short a time it may be. </em></p>
<p>            “Yeah it’s fine,” says R, feeling like he’s going to his death. “Just hang tight, the rest of you check out first, I’ll be quick.”</p>
<p>~</p>
<p>            It’s only when R is at the door of Jehan and Combeferre’s apartment, that he starts to know something is wrong. The door is a bit ajar, and he knows for a <em>fact </em>that Combeferre is anal about keeping doors closed. His first thought is panic, that Enjolras took off for some reason, but he can hear voices from within. That’s the second clue that something is wrong: voices <em>plural. </em>He freezes outside the door and tries to hear what’s being said, but it’s too quiet. Moving as little as he can, he pulls his phone out of his coat pocket and swipes to the emergency screen. He dials 911 but doesn’t call just yet, after all, what if Enjolras had other plans or someone coming by? <em>Not likely </em>he thinks. </p>
<p>            He nudges open the door, holding his breath. It opens with a quiet squeak, but the murmur, which he can now pinpoint is coming from the living room, doesn’t cease or pause. Keeping one finger over the dial button, he steps into the entry way, and edges around the doorway to the living room as quietly as he can.</p>
<p>He almost hits dial out of reflex when he sees the back of a tall, broad man, who is <em>definitely </em>not one of their friends. He’s standing facing Enjolras, who’s looking at him with an expression akin to abject horror. His nose is bleeding, and there’s a newer bruise coming up under his black eye. His eyes flicker to Grantaire for a moment before snapping back to the man, who’s saying something about coming with him, and being reasonable. Grantaire knows instinctively who this is.</p>
<p>Conceivably, R could just leave and call Combeferre or something, he knows that Enjolras very purposefully isn’t looking at him, but it feels wrong to leave him alone here for even a minute. He impulsively opens his phone and texts Courf- the most likely to check his phone- <em>all of you come back right now. </em>Then, he opens his camera and hits record, before shoving it in his pocket. He tries not to pass out. He steps out into the doorway and awkwardly clears his throat.</p>
<p>“Who the hell are you?” he asks and tries not to wince at how stupidly aggressive that sounded. Enjolras’s father whips his head around and makes a move to walk towards Grantaire. Enjolras’s hand snaps out and closes around his wrist, like he’s scared of him getting any closer to R. His father wrenches his hand out of his grasp immediately and grips Enjolras’s forearm. He <em>squeezes </em>to the point where his own forearm is trembling, and Enjolras looks back at him, back no noise, but a sharp gasp that he quickly cuts off.</p>
<p>“You’re hurting my friend,” says R, “and you’re in my house. Please tell me who you are before I call the cops.” The man turns and draws both himself and Enjolras a bit closer.</p>
<p>“This isn’t your house,” he says, in an oddly inflectionless tone, “I know who lives here, this is Combeferre’s house.”</p>
<p>“Combeferre and a roommate,” says Grantaire. He is absolutely improvising. He has no idea what words are coming out of his mouth, he can’t think over his heartbeat. “I’m the roommate. Prouvaire.” He prays that this won’t somehow get Jehan in trouble later on. “Now please tell me why you’re here and let go of my friend.”</p>
<p>If anything, his father tightens his grip, while Enjolras stares at Grantaire. He can’t tell if Enjolras is furious or terrified. “This is my son,” he says through gritted teeth. “He’s not in a good mindset right now, I’m taking him home.” Enjolras’s expression becomes completely shuttered, which is worse.</p>
<p>“He’s an adult,” says Grantaire, “he doesn’t look like he wants to go. Please leave now. I’ll call the police.”</p>
<p>“Do you know who I am?” asks Enjolras’s father, “the police will take my word over yours, without question, young man.”</p>
<p>“Could be,” says R, mind racing, “but I’m sure that having the police called on you at <em>all</em>, is bad when you’re in politics. And even if they end up taking your side, I know some folks at the local paper who will make it news.” He absolutely doesn’t. That’s an absolutely bullshit threat, but he figures if a paper is what screwed them all over the first time, then maybe it can get them out of this. The man does seem to hesitate for a just a second. R pulls out his phone, even though he doesn’t want to call the police. For one, he doesn’t trust them <em>ever</em>, but for two, he can’t be sure they really won’t side with Enjolras’s father. The phone is still recording. He pretends to dial and then puts it up to his ear, turning sideways so that he might actually get footage of them.</p>
<p>“Hello?” he says, and pauses, “well, there’s a man in my house and he won’t leave.”</p>
<p>“We’re leaving <em>now</em>,” says Enjolras’s father, with the closest thing to temper since Grantaire’s arrived. He drags Enjolras practically off his feet on the way to the door. Without thinking R immediately drops the phone and grabs his hand. Enjolras clutches back with all he’s worth. He turns to face R, with a look that’s wide eyed and unreadable, as his father yanks at his other arm.</p>
<p>“Son,” says his father, though Grantaire can’t tell which of them he’s addressing, “you’ll want to let go right now.”</p>
<p>Grantaire starts, “I-” presumably to bullshit some more, when they hear footsteps and the door opens again to reveal Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Cosette, and Eponine all staring in horror, arms full of chips.</p>
<p>Enjolras’s father swears under his breath and pulls Enjolras to face him. “You will be hearing from me about this,” he spits, squeezing his face in one hand, and then he’s out the door, pushing aggressively through the group of amis. There’s a moment of dead stillness while they listen to him walk down the stairs and out the door. Then Combeferre breaks the moment by rushing to Enjolras and throwing down his bag of candy.</p>
<p>“Your nose,” he says, “I need to check it’s not out of place again.”</p>
<p>“Jesus fucking Christ,” says Eponine, as she herds everyone inside. She shuts and immediately locks the door. “What the fuck. How did he know where you live?”</p>
<p>Enjolras opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He’s still squeezing Grantaire’s hand way too tight. He doesn’t mind though, it’s a little comforting to be honest. He squeezes back, but gentler this time. Everyone is huddled around them, looking anxiously from one to the other.</p>
<p>“Fuck R, if you hadn’t texted,” says Courf.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” says Grantaire in a whisper. Then a bit louder, “Ferre, he knew this was your house.”</p>
<p>“Shit,” says Courfeyrac.</p>
<p>“He knows Courfeyrac and I,” says Combeferre, “He probably looked us up.” He takes a paper towel and gives it to Enjolras, who absently holds it to his nose. Combeferre is inspecting his face and his arm carefully, wiping them with another paper towel. It doesn’t actually look like it’s doing a lot but it might be helpful, because Enjolras focuses on him finally and shuts his mouth abruptly. His eyes are wet, and R can tell he’s doing everything he can to keep his face still. He squeezes his hand one more time, and Enjolras seems to realize for the first time, that they’re still holding hands. He let’s go of R’s hand and holds his hands up hesitantly, like he’s not sure what to do with them. When he speaks, his voice is like a croak.</p>
<p>“Ferre.”</p>
<p>“It’s going to be ok,” says Combeferre, “I’m so sorry we left you alone E, I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>“He’ll come back,” says Enjolras.</p>
<p>“We’ll keep him out,” says Courf fiercely.</p>
<p>A few tears fall down Enjolras’s face, although his expression still doesn’t change, “he’ll keep coming back.”</p>
<p>“Stay with me again.”</p>
<p>“He knows you too, Courf,” says Eponine. Enjolras is shaking.</p>
<p>“Ok,” says R, “let’s maybe table this for once he’s not bleeding?”</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” says Enjolras, who looks like he’s on the verge of passing the hell out.</p>
<p>“You can stay with me tonight at least,” says Eponine.</p>
<p>Combeferre stares at her, “all his stuff is here.”</p>
<p>“He can’t stay here,” says Eponine, “what if he comes back?”</p>
<p>Combeferre starts, “he can’t-” but he’s cut off by a choking sound from Enjolras. His face is still frighteningly blank, with tears and blood still streaming down it. He makes the noise again, a sort of aborted sob. He’s shaking so much that Grantaire is worried he’ll fall over.</p>
<p>“Let’s deal with one thing at a time,” says Courfeyrac, in a voice that allows no room for argument. He very gingerly reaches out and puts a hand on Enjolras’s shoulder. Enjolras doesn’t acknowledge it, so he gently steers both him and Combeferre to the couch, where Ferre continues to check Enjolras’s face. Courf sits on his other side, still keeping the lightest of touches on his shoulder. Enjolras reaches out, still with the same vague, teary expression and puts a hand on his knee. Courf bites his lip as his eyes well up.</p>
<p>“Do you want us to stay the night?” asks Cosette, “I mean, if leaving doesn’t seem like the move.”</p>
<p>“That might be nice,” says Jehan, “if you can? No pressure.”</p>
<p>“We’re offering,” says Eponine, and R nods too, because he can’t imagine driving in this state.</p>
<p>“I’ll grab my sleeping bag and stuff,” says Jehan, dashing off. Enjolras blinks at where they were, with unfocused eyes. He turns back to Combeferre.</p>
<p>“I- I’m sorry. I- I…”</p>
<p>“It’s fine, E,” Combeferre interrupts, “it’s more than fine, please stay here tonight. I’m so glad we came back when we did. We’re not going to leave you again.” He gives Enjolras a long searching look, when he gets no response. Enjolras gives a faint nod. “We want you here, E. We want to protect you. And help you. Everyone in this room loves you, just take our word for it? Please?”</p>
<p>“Take our word for it and lay down,” says Courf, “you’re shaking like a leaf.” He maneuvers them so that Enjolras is lying down with his head in Courfeyrac’s lap. Combeferre, between Courf and the arm of the couch, continues trying to clean the blood off his face. Enjolras protests none of this, which may be because he’s so out of it, but it still feels like maybe progress.</p>
<p>Jehan reenters carrying a vast array of soft things, and R is relieved because that’s something he can actually help with. They spread out a sort of nest of pillows and blankets and move the air mattress to the center of it.</p>
<p>“It’s just like camping,” Jehan says, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Enjolras doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t pull away when they set up the nest around him, so maybe he’s at least starting to trust them, thinks Grantaire. <em>Maybe</em>, another part of him thinks, <em>trusting us is the only option now</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Cw: child abuse, non graphic descriptions of injury, blood, panic and trauma responses</p>
<p>Thank you so much if you've read this far! If you wanna chat or just scream about les amis, hit up on tumblr @jesuisserieux! Also please PLEASE like and kudo, I hoard them like a dragon. If you keysmash you will literally make my day. Thank you so much again for reading, I hope this story is keeping you hooked &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>